


To Cure Evil With Evil

by Beserk



Series: An Ineffective Cure For Evil [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-17 14:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16976367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beserk/pseuds/Beserk





	1. Arriving at Grimmauld Place

_Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it  
-Terry Pratchett_

He smells the familiar scent in the parlor while he's watching some of Grindelwald's people looking around. The new arrival therefore is more than welcome. Sirius breathes in relief at the perfectly good reason to leave his 'guests' and dashes down the hallways to open the front door before Remus can knock.

"Knocking, Moony? Really?" Sirius grins broadly.

The other man raises an eyebrow, fist still hanging in the air. "It's polite."

"It's pointless," Sirius rolls his eyes. "It's a human practice. I can smell you."

Remus blinks at his for a second then bursts out laughing. The sound warms Sirius up.

"I missed you, Padfoot," He says affectionally after the laughter dies out.

"Yeah, I missed you as well," Sirius moves to the side to let Remus pass, and gives him a quick kiss. Remus raises an eyebrow at the rather chaste display, and Sirius jerks his head towards the general direction of the parlor.

"Ah. Grindelwald's people are here?" Remus always was quick. He pulls of his knitted sweater, brushing back his golden curls.

"Yes, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I was not allowed to get into a fight with them," Sirius accepts the sweater and hangs it up. "And-"

"If you show affection to a hybrid it would certainly illicit a reaction."

"And I would have to kill them. You understand."

"Have you considered, you know, just _not_."

"Not killing them?"

"Precisely."

"If they insult you?" Sirius thinks. "No. Not really."

Remus rolls his eyes, "Your self-control is commendable."

Sirius shrugs. In his opinion, Remus is expecting maybe just a bit too much self-control.

"Is Prongs here?"

"Yeah. He's actually the one who informed me I was not allowed to get into fights."

"Really?" Remus sounds surprised. "Now _that's_ an impressive amount of self-control. For him."

Sirius swallows, "He's worried about Harry, and he said he didn't need any more headaches."

"Hmm," Remus's fingers tail the rows of tribal heirlooms lining the walls, brought into the house by the Inuit side of Sirius's heritage. "Where is he?"

"On the roof."

"I'll go talk to him. You, get back to Grindelwald's men."

"Do I-"

"Yes, you have too. I don’t think they should be left to roam the house without supervision."

"You don’t trust them at all, do you, Moony?" Sirius teases.

"Of course I do. I trust them to be untrustworthy."

****

James is, as Sirius said, on the roof. He had heard the arrival of his friend, and was quite pleased by it. But he couldn’t come down, not until he saw his son had arrived safely.

He scans the skyline again. Where _was_ he? Dumbledore had told James that Harry had been to a bloodfarm and was on his way to Grimmauld place with Luna Lovegood. The thought of his son seeing one of those places makes James near murderous with rage.

The worst part is that he has nothing to do. Nothing to do but wait for his son to come to him. He's pretty sure it's meant to be the other way around.

"James?"

James turns to the sound and smiles, "Hiya, Moony."

"Hiya, Prongs," Remus shuffles onto the room and settles down next to James. The rooftop is covered in snow that melts under touch. James remembers how Lily used to shiver at the touch of snow, covering herself up to protect from the cold. He would wrap his arms around her to help keep out the chill, and she would laugh, leaning her body against his with trust. "He hasn’t shown yet?"

James shakes his head.

"He'll be here soon. You know that boy. He won't miss an opportunity to be where the action is."

James grins, "That's true."

"Takes after his father."

James's smiles turns somewhat sad, "I think he takes after his mother more."

"Thank the gods for that."

"Hey!" James punches Remus playfully. "What kind of a friend are you?"

"An honest one-oh! Hear that?"

"A thestral."

James jumps up as a thestral appears in the sky, carrying Harry and an unknown figure with flaming red hair the kind of which James has only ever seen on Lily. As the winged creature approaches, Luna slips out and jumps into the air, landing gracefully on the roof as the thestral flaps his wings above.

"Harry!" James reaches out to grab his son and pull him down from the creature. From the corner of his eye he sees Luna petting the thestral before rushing down the stairs and Remus gently holding out his hands for the girl before bringing her down. As soon as her feet touch the ground the girl detaches herself from Remus, but James's mind can only really process Harry at the moment, so he turns back to his son.

"Are you all right?" He asks Harry, grabbing his shoulder. "Were you hurt-"

"I'm fine, Dad."

But he doesn’t look fine, and he certainly doesn't sound fine, and he's standing far too limply as James crushes him into a hug.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," He whispers.

Harry's hands come up to grab his father's jacket, like he used to do when he was a little boy.

"I couldn't save them," He mumbles into James's shoulder. "They burned up."

"Oh, Harry…"

"Even the one who didn’t. I trued to get him out. I _got_ him out. But he died anyway. How is that _fair_?"

"It’s not," James says truthfully, still holding on to his son. "It's not fair, Harry. Sometimes…sometimes things happen that aren’t fair, that shouldn't happen. But they happen just the same."

Harry snorts, his whole body shaking.

"I don’t…I don’t think I can live in a world where these things exist, Dad."

"I don’t either. That's why we're going to stop them."

****

"What's your name?" Remus asks the girl, quietly. She's looking around with wide eyes, taking in nothing and everything all at once. He can tell, by her smell, that she's a newborn, and a Squib as well, probably only created in the past few days. He supposes that her shock is understandable. Most newborns are like that. But there's something else in her eyes, something darker, that he can't decipher.

"I must be dead," The girl says in wonder. She reaches out a hand to catch a snowflake, and as it melts on her fingers she tilts her arm so the droplets of water drip down to her elbow, leaving a trail like a tear.

"You're not dead, sweetheart. You're just turned."

"I can see the sky," She says this like an explanation. I can see the sky- therefore I must be dead. Remus understands suddenly.

"You where there," He says calmly. "They took your blood."

"There was no sky," She looks up at it, tears stinging her face.

"But there is now," Remus says quietly. "See? It's right there, up there. It never left, it waited for you."

"I can't feel," Remus isn’t sure if the girl can even hear him anymore. She appears to be stuck in some king of daze. "It was so cold. but now I can't feel."

"You'll be able to feel. Just different things."

"Promise?" She's still not looking at him, but something is hardening in her eyes, the daze fading just a bit.

"I promise."

"Vampires can feel?"

"I told you I promise, didn’t I? Will you tell me your name?"

"Ginny," Harry says, detaching himself from his father and coming over. "Her name is Ginny Weasley."

"Weasley?" James frowns. "I didn't know they had a Squib daugh-"

He stops when Remus raises a hand. He notices shame and horror is plastered on Harry's face. A chill creeps down his spine, "Harry."

"Yes," Harry whispers, looking down at his feet.

"What happened?"

Harry swallows and says, "Herbrotherisdead."

The words fall out so quickly Remus can barely catch them, and before he ask more questions the boy has bolted away, disappearing down into the house.

"Harry!" James yelps and takes after him, leaving Remus alone with Ginny Weasley.

Ginny doesn’t' seem to register Harry's abrupt departure. Her eyes are still focused solely on the night sky. And it is rather beautiful. Grimmuald Place is in the middle of the wilderness, far from city light, so the stars shine incredibly brightly above then. He sees Ginny's eyes dark from place to place as she catches glimpses of the stars behind the clouds raining down the snow.

Remus decides to settle down on the roof, folding his legs and looking down at the winding road ahead of them.

"Your parents and brothers will be coming as well," He tells the girl. "I'm sure they'll be very happy to see you."

"I don't think so," The clarity in Ginny's voice nearly makes Remus jump. He had not expected it. "My life for my brother's doesn’t seem a worthy exchange."

Remus's voice softens, "I know your parents, and I really don’t think they'll look at it that way at all."

Ginny shrugs, "From the moment I came into this world, my mother and father have been preparing to lose me. That's what it means to be a human. We-they-are so fragile. But she never had to think about losing Ron."

"Parents worry about losing their children no matter what species they are," Remus replies, thinking of the relief in James's face when he caught hold of Harry. "It's a natural part of being a parent."

"Natural," Ginny sighs. "There's nothing _natural_ about any of this."

"I suppose natural is relative."

"Is it?" Ginny turns to look at him, her green eyes holding him in place. She's got a powerful stare, this girl. "How about you? What's _your_ natural? Because you smell strange. Not like the others at all."

"No," Remus shrgus. "What you're smelling is werewolf blood."

"You're a werewolf? What are you doing working with vampires?"

"I'm a half werewolf," Remus corrects. "I was born a pureblood vampire and was bitten by a werewolf when I was seven."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She seems to think for a while and then says, "Then you're like me. You don’t belong anywhere."

Remus smiles rather sadly at that, "I belong here, with the Order. You can too, if you want."

Ginny sighs heavily, "I never belonged with my family. I love them, I do, but-well, it was complicated. I belonged when I was with humans. I liked it. It felt right. Now that's gone."

"Yes, it is," Remus agrees. There was no point saying anything else. She couldn’t re-join human society. She was forever cut off from it. "But that doesn’t mean you can't find a new belonging."

****

Grimmauld Place, being the huge mansion that it is, is filled of secret hideouts, and throughout his childhood, which was full of visits to his godfather's home, Harry had discovered all of them, but his favourite was the room holding the huge tapestry depicting _The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_. He liked the reminder of how awful people could be. It made him feel slightly better about himself.

So, it's to the tapestry room that Harry goes in a childish attempt to escape his guilt.

 _Be_ _cause you killed him_ , a nasty voice reminds him. _He would still be alive if you hadn't dragged him to Alabama._

He groans and slips to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs. He killed Ron and then turned his sister. Oh, gods, what was he _thinking_?

 _She was dying_ , a logical voice informs him. It sounds a lot like Hermione.

"But she didn’t want to be turned. Who doesn’t want to be turned?"

"Talking to yourself, Harry?"

Harry looks up to see his godfather walking into the room with an amused look on his face. Harry's dad must have sent him, Harry assumes. He knows them both very well. James would have guessed that Harry didn’t want to talk to him and done the logical thing of sending Sirius instead.

"I'm _arguing_ with myself," Harry corrects. "Now leave."

"Leave? But this is my house!" Sirius waves his hands in mock exasperation. Harry's used to that reaction and is not finding it amusing this time. "I've come to take a look at my family tree."

"You're not even in it."

"That's true…you know, I was thinking of painting over it and making a new tree with just the undesirables."

"You won’t," Harry says flatly. "Moony says you like seeing it. It gives you, and I quote: 'satisfaction from taking over the things your parents considered you unworthy for. That's Moony talk for _'big ego'_."

"It probably is. Gods, you'd think my own partner would have a higher opinion of me."

"Then go take it up with him," That had a mild chance of success.

"Harry, "Sirius says seriously. "Tell me what happened. Please."

Harry opens his mouth to refuse, but what comes out instead is the whole story, from his and Hermione's encounter with Grindelwald to speaking with Luna to the bloodfarm and all that happened there. Sirius doesn’t say anything, just listens with a slight frown, his long black hair tumbling down his shoulder as he tilts his head back and forth. Once Harry finishes, he sighs heavily and says dryly, "You've had an interesting few days, Harry."

"Yeah…" Harry mumbles. "And don’t tell me I shouldn’t feel guilty. Please."

"I wasn't going to," Sirius says sharply. "You feel the way you feel. But I do want you to know that it wasn’t your fault."

"What?" Harry shakes his head, confused as to how his godfather could have come to that conclusion. "How could you _say_ that? I'm the one who made him come to the bloodfarm!"

"You didn’t _make_ him do anything, Harry. You asked him, but it was his choice in the end. And you aren’t the one who killed him, were you? And you were not the one who ran that place, were you?"

"But…" Harry bites his lip. "I'm still-still responsible."

"I know you feel that way. There's nothing wrong with that. I just need you to understand, Harry…there's a war coming, and in war there are casualties. And no matter what we may want to tell ourselves, we have no way on stopping that from happening, and no way of knowing who will die, or when, or on what mission. If you spend time thinking: if I hadn’t done this or this, then so and so would be alive, then you'll drive yourself mad, and not be any use to anyone," Sirius's eyes grow hard. "Trust me, I know."

****

Albus sighs in relief when Grimmuald Place finally comes into view. The last few days have been, to say the least, somewhat difficult. It was somewhat difficult to transport a couple seemingly dead bodies and one furious and wounded young man from NYC to the Canadian wilderness. Gellert had tired to convince him to bleed Draco out to make him easier to transport, but Albus had vetoed that suggestion.

"He's just a confused boy," He had said sternly as Dracon snarled at him, held in palce by the Dead Man's Blood that they had injected him with. They could only find enough in the manor to paralyze his lower body, leaving him in command of his mouth and arms.

"I'm a Death Eater," Draco had sulked (there was really no other word for it), and Hermione had hit him hard on the face with a satisfied look on her face.

"Just shut up," She had advised him pleasantly. Gellert had grinned at her.

In the end they had stolen a rather old and rickety van from some hippies in Central Park and hidden the prisoners in the back of it. During the crossing into Canada, they had one tense encounter with a boarder patrol agent, who had asked to look in the back of the van. Albus had flashed him his fangs, and he had quickly let them pass. It was either that or let Gellert kill him.

They had had to stop during the day time, so had posed as hippies at trailer parks-or rather, Albus had sent Gellert to pose as a hippie while he and Hermione stayed in the van.

"Is there any reason you're not coming out with me, love?" Gellert had asked as Albus looked around the van, trying to find a relatively clear mattress to lay on. "Or, to be more specific, is there any reason _I_ have to go there if you don’t?"

"It's just for an hour or two, until sunrise," Unless you want one of those humans getting suspicious of the dark van with mysterious inhabitants?"

"So you're sending me out on my own because…"

"Because I look like a teacher and they'll get scared and talk about how 'The Man' wants to bring them down," Albus had had experiences with hippies and their ilk.

"You _do_ look like a teacher. You know, you might look less like one if you-"

"I'm not shaving my beard," Albus had nudged one of the mattresses with his foot and a cloud of dust popped up.

"I wish you would," Gellert had tried a pout, but abandoned that tactic when Albus gave him a lightly disappointed look. "All right, never mind that…will you send your girl with me?"

"Stop calling her that," Albus had ordered. "She has a name. It's Hermione. And no, she's not coming with you."

That was the main issue that had made the trip to Grimmuald Place so unsettling for Albus and why he's so glad it's over now. He doesn’t like the way Gellert talks about Hermione, the way his eyes sparkle when he follows her. He's finding her entertaining, and Albus is sure Gellert has not forgotten about her outburst in the Malfoy mansion, about the secret violence hidden inside her.

When Gellert finds someone entertaining, he collects them. And he molds his collections into weapons to be used and discarded at will.

Albus is not going to let him have Hermione.

So he's glad their little road trip is over. Best find something else to occupy Gellert with. And in Grimmuald Place they were sure to find just that.

As they bring the van to a stop, the front door opens and people begin to pour out. First out is Harry, followed by his father and godfather and Gellert's second in command. Albus loses track as Harry comes up to the van and forces the door open before grabbing Hermione in a crushing bear bug. Albus watches the sweet little scene as Hermione detaches herself from her friend to run her eyes over his body, making sure he was unharmed and well.

"Professor," James Potter says softly as he exits the van.

"James, it's good to see you," Albus smiles. He's always glad to see his former students, even if the circumstances are less then ideal. "Who's arrived?"

"Let's see…Remus, Andromeda and her daughter-fair warning about her-"

"Not to call her Nymphadora. I know, she was the same at Hogwarts."

"Speaking of Hogwarts, Moody and McGonagall arrived earlier tonight as well."

"Good, that's very good. And which of Grindelwald's people have come?"

"The creeper ladies-"

"Rosier and Carrow?"

"Yeah-ha, and a few others. Not many."

"Good," Albus nods. He turns to see Gellert being approached by Vinda Rosier. She leans her head down respectfully, that unnerving fanatic loyalty shining through her eyes. There goes one of Gellert's favourite collectable items. "We don’t want too marry of them here. Let them stay in Nurmengard Castle and help from Europe."

James snorts in agreement and Albus moves over to Gellert and Rosier. She looks up and nearly sneers when she sees him. Her eyes grow hard with hatred and bitter jealousy as Gellert steps away from her and towards Albus, hand reached out as though to take hold of him.

"Get your people together," Albus tells him quietly. "I need to talk to mine and I assume you'll want to do the same. Then we can…discuss our options."

Gellert slowly nods, eyes scanning the crowd, "Should be interesting."


	2. Planning For War

_By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail  
-Benjamin Franklin_

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione says softly, snuggling up to him on the recliner. The members of the Order of the Phoenix are slipping into the parlor, one by one. Harry's father and godfather are among them, and so is Luna. Luna settles down on the floor and looks around with wide eyes. Dumbledore has gone upstairs to check on the newborn, Ginny. Harry's father's friend has apparently been trying to get her off the roof. Hermione doesn't blame her for wanting to stay away from everyone. She can remember her own transformation, how terrifying and confusing it had been. "You must have been so scared. Being burned…"

She shivers and feels her friend's arms tighten around her. "I'm not the one who was wounded by Damascus steel," Harry says.

Hermione runs her fingers on the healing wound on her neck. She may have a scar from this.

"It's all right. I forgot what it felt like, scabs. Kind of nice."

"Is it?" Harry asks in wonder, making Hermione grin.

"Not really. But it _is_ a nice reminder of how lucky we are. Not to have to deal with it usually, I mean."

Harry snorts, "I leave you for, what, a week and a half, and you manage to get yourself infected by Dead Man's Blood and wounded by Damascus steel. Can't leave you alone for a second, can I?"

Hermione sighs deeply, "I'm sorry I didn’t come with you."

"Don't be silly, 'mione. I wasn't going to ask you to come with back to Alabama."

"But look what happened when you were left alone-oh," Hermione puts a hand on her mouth. "Oh, Harry, that's not what I meant-I didn’t mean that it was your fau-I'm sorry."

She turns to look at Harry, but instead of the anger of guilt she expected, she finds only a deep sorrow that unnerves her more than the other two emotions would have. She has never seen Harry so sad before. There seems to be no light left in his eyes.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione breathes in, but before Harry can answer, or before a silence can grow between them, Albus Dumbledore enters the room.

 _He looks tired_ , Hermione thinks. _He looks more tired then he has the past few days._

Dumbledore walks straight over to Harry and her and says quietly, "She'll be all right, Harry."

"Huh?" Harry blinks up. "Has she come down?"

"No. Ginny's made it quite clear she wishes to remain on the roof until her parents arrive. She's been through a horrific experience and I believe it would be best to allow her to do as she wishes. But she's a strong girl with a strong mind and I believe she will find her way back to sanity."

Hermione turns to see Harry nodding slowly, "Thank you, Professor."

"It's quite all right, Harry," Dumbledore clears his throat before turning to the room and saying, "Can I have everyone's attention, please?"

It's a rather ridiculous, given the fact that everyone's eyes have been trained on Dumbledore from the moment he entered the room.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Hermione catches Harry's father and godfather rolling their eyes at each other. She has to agree with their amusement. Dumbledore sounds like he's welcoming them to a tea party or something. "Before we get started on the more pressing issues, there is one thing I wanted to make clear."

His eyes flash back and forth, taking everyone in with a harsh look.

"The man we are going to attempt to prevent waking is called Tom Riddle. I know there is another name's he's known as, a name he gave himself. We will not sue that name amongst ourselves."

Frowns appear on several faces, including Harry's. Hermione is pleased by the proof that he's paying attention and not trapped in his own mind, which she assumes would not be a pleasant place to be at the moment.

"That name is part of concerted effort to turn a man into a myth, to turn someone who is flesh and blood into something more. He is not, as some might think, a demon, a creature sent by the Green God himself to destroy vampiric society. He is a vampire, like all of us here. He was born  from a woman and can be killed. Now, that being said, he is an exceptionally powerful and talented vampire, versed in a myriad of blood magic disciplines-"

"I have a question, sir," Hermione whips her head to the side to see Harry sitting up.

"Harry," James Potter grins at his son. "Raise a hand before speaking in class."

If looks could kill, James would be laid down stone cold on the floor.

"What's your question, Harry?" Dumbledore asks softly.

"I would like to know, Professor, if you really expect us to work with racists."

A stiff silence covers the room as all eyes flip to Dumbledore, waiting to hear his reaction. Dumbledore's eyes are growing hard and he says, flatly, "Yes."

"Why?" Hermione blurts out, unable to stop herself.

Dumbledore sighs, slumping on a chair opposite Harry and Hermione's recliner. He looks around with a sharp, piercing kind of calm. It's more then slightly unnerving, his ability to exude calm while throwing daggers with his eyes. "I know that they harbor…reprehensible beliefs and that being around them is quite unpleasant."

Unpleasant. Interesting word choice. Hermione would have gone with horrific.

"But we have no choice but to work with them. The last times we've fought the Death Eaters, some of you remember, we very nearly lost. And that was _with_ the Ministry's full assistance. This time-"

"We won’t have any such help!" A man barks from the side. Hermione turns to see a relatively short man with wild black hair and a crazed look in his eyes. His face is so full of scars that it's hard to find unmarred flesh on it, and he's missing a huge chunk on his nose. She's never seen a vampire with so many scars. "This time we must stand on our own. Not that the Ministry was particularly helpful last time. Cowardly little bastards, the lot of them, especially now Fudge has taken over…"

"Yes, Alastor, thank you," Dumbledore says dryly.

"So, we have to recruit heavily," A severe looking woman, with brown hair tied into a tight bun on top of her head, says calmly. "To compensate."

"And you can be sure the Death Eaters will be doing the same," The man growls. "Their greatest strength always came from their creature allies, not their vampires."

"But they will be recruiting new vampires," Sirius Black says thoughtfully. "Especially now you've wiped out so many of them."

"Yes…" Dumbledore closes his eyes in thought. "Minerva, Alastor, keep an eye open at Hogwarts, see if any students suddenly leave. Particularly students from Death Eater families. We're going to need to start our own recruitment efforts."

"We should try to recruit the giants," Someone says.

"I'll send Hagrid and perhaps Madam Maxime if she'd go as well. About the werewolves…Remus?"

"Yes," A soft voice comes from the roof.

"I am sorry to have to ask this of you-"

"I'll leave as soon as the Weasleys arrive," The voice says. Hermione, frowning, turns to Harry.

"Where will he go?" She whispers to him.

Harry's jaw's clenched, "To infiltrate the werewolf community. Or to try. They don’t trust him much, being half-vampire."

"Those of you who work in the Ministry, see if you can shit opinion there. But do be careful," Dumbledore continues. "I don’t want Fudge getting the impression we're trying to panic the vampire community."

"Except we are," Luna's soft voice rings through the room, "We're trying to make them panic, aren't we, Dumbledore?"

"They should be panicking," The wild looking man growls.

"We don’t want anyone to panic," The severe woman snaps. "Panicking will do no good. But we do want them to be vigilant."

"Constantly," Harry mumbles, and a few people grin. A private joke, Hermione supposes. The wild man growls at him.

"Dumbledore, you said you've captured Narcissa and Snape?" Sirius asks.

"Yes, why?"

"I'm sure they know what their fellows were planning."

"Maybe the boy does," Hermione mumbles, and jumps when all eyes turn to her. "I mean, um…"

"You think they'd tell him?" Dumbledore asks. He's asking _her_ for her opinion in front of a room of old and powerful vampires. Hermione swallows.

"His mother might," Hermione squeaks. Oh gods, why squeaking? Why couldn't her voice take on a respectable gravitas or imposing growl? Did it have to jump straight to _squeaking_? "She trusts him with things that are clearly far beyond his capabilities. So she might trust him with information as well."

"That's true," Luna says mildly. "She sent him to fight me." She shrugs.

Dumbledore nods slowly, "That's an interesting idea, we'll try that. In the meantime, Sirius, could you place the bodies and Draco somewhere secure?"

"I'll put them in the dungeon," Sirius nods. "We have some Damascus steel cuffs. My ancestors were _lovely_ people."

"Thank you, go do that," Dumbledore closes his eyes. "I would rather not wake the Death Eaters up if it can be prevented…"

"Albus," The scarred man growls, "do you believe they've gotten enough blood?"

"I don’t know," Dumbledore replies, eyes still closed. "And I intend on operating as though both options are true, as though they both have enough and do not have enough. This way there will be no surprises. James, Sirius- I would like you to look for new bloodfarms."

"No problem," They say together.

"And if they have enough?" Harry asks.

"Well, then they'll be faced with a new problem. No one knows were Riddle was hidden."

Hermione blinks, stunned, and Luna says dreamily, "The Ministry took his body and hid it. No one knows where. It seemed safer at the time."

"But…" Hermione rubs her forehead. "Someone knows. Someone must have hidden him. Won’t the Death Eaters go after them?"

"I don’t know who hid the body- that was part of the security. But I can make an educated guess, knowing how the Ministry operated back then, who they'd have sent. Which is why I'm sending you," His eyes open with a flash and he takes in the inhabitants of the room, "to keep an eye on those people. You will have to be very careful, they cannot see you. I don’t to think how Fudge will react if he heard we were tailing his people."

Hermione was starting to think that maybe the Minister was _slightly_ paranoid.

Dumbledore begins issuing orders, sending his people on various assignments. Slowly but surely, the room empties as the vampires exit and Hermione hears them leave the mansion one by one. Before long, only Luna, Dumbledore Harry and Hermione remain. Dumbledore sighs deeply and turns to Luna.

"Luna, are the thestrals ready if need be?"

"Yes," Luna nods slowly. "But they don’t like fighting, you know."

"I won't ask them to do anything unless I have to. Let them know that."

"I will, if you want me to, but I don't think I need to. They trust you."

"They trust you more."

 _They sound like they're talking about people_ , Hermione thinks. She remembers what Luna had said about the thestrals: _just because they don’t speak doesn't mean you shouldn't listen to them._

 _That doesn't make any sense, though,_ Hermione thinks, exasperated.

Luna shrugs and jumps up, skipping out of the room, her blond hair flying behind her. Dumbledore sighs and turns to Harry and Hermione. He smiles gently.

"I know this is a lot to take in," He says softly.

Harry shrugs, but Hermione can feel his body tensing.

"I have a job for you, Harry, if you're up for it," Dumbledore continues.

Harry leans forward, "Finally. What is it?"

"We need blood."

Harry and Hermione exchange a look.

"You want me to go on a hunt?" Harry asks, confusion clear in his voice.

Dumbledore smiles, "No. I want you to sneak into a hospital and steal blood bags."

Hermione blinks, and then blinks some more, and then Harry says, "All right."

"Good. Very good," Dumbledore rubs his hands together "Harry, I need to speak to Hermione."

"All right."

"Alone."

"What? Oh!" Harry jumps up and gives Hermione a confused look. She shrugs back. He frowns before leaving the room, and Dumbledore gets up from his seat and walks over to Hermione.

"I know it's a lot to ask," Dumbledore whispers into her ear, so quietly she knows only she can hear. "But if you'll willing and capable, I would like for you to join me when I speak to Draco."

Hermione jerks backwards, "Why?"

"Because he's scared of you," Dumbledore says bluntly. "He's already seen that you're capable of harming him. This, Hermione, will be an interrogation."

Hermione narrows her eyes at him, "You're going to hurt him?"

"No," Dumbledore shakes his head. "But I don’t necessarily want _him_ to know that."

"Oh," Hermione frowns her forehead in thought. "I suppose that makes sense. But…I hate being around him. Especially when he…says stuff."

"I know," Dumbledore says gently. "And I realize that I am asking a lot from you. I'm asking you to practice an almost unnatural amount of restraint. If I were in your position I would probably want him dead too."

"I don’t want him dead," Hermione objects. She doesn’t, not really. "I just want to hurt him, really badly. And I hate that. I hate that I want to hurt him so much. I don’t like that part of myself."

"I don’t think it says anything about you as a person, Hermione. We all have our breaking points, and somebody telling us we are worth less then them because of who and what we are is, in my opinion, a perfectly logical and reasonable point."

Hermione nods, feeling slightly better, "When I was little, my younger half-brother was attacked on the way home from school. Some older kids pelted him with rocks. I was so mad at my parents, because…they didn't do anything. I thought they should have gone out and killed those boys."

"If they had, Hermione-"

"We all would ended up dead. I know. But it was still hard. I felt so useless. I couldn't fight for my brother the way I wanted to, and my parents didn’t fight for him the way I wanted them to."

"But you weren't useless there, Hermione. And you're not useless here, either. You're the opposite. You have a chance to help make a real difference. And I don’t just mean by fighting."

"I know what you mean, sir. But do you don't really think you can reform Draco, don’t you?"

"No. I think _you_ can reform Draco."

"I'll come," Hermione sighs, though she thinks that perhaps her creator is expecting too much from the world.

****

"We're soaked," Ginny says, lifting her arm. She's still wearing the burned medical gown from the bloodfarm. It smells like that place. It makes her sick, but she doesn’t want to go down to change. She doesn't want to see too much, to hear too much. She feels that if she does, she'll explode. Just by speaking and hearing someone speak back to her she feels almost drowned by the sensations.

"Clothes dry, or can be replaced," Was Remus's mild response. Ginny smiles at that. She's never met anyone quite like the man seated beside her, and not only because of his hybrid status. What she really likes about him is how, behind his calm facade, she can sense a strength and resourcefulness, a command of his world hidden deep within him, ready to explode out when the need arises. "Don’t worry about that, Ginny."

"I'm not worried, per say," Ginny frowns. "It's just frustrating, that's all."

"That your clothes are soaked and yet you can't feel a thing?"

"Yeah…" Water drips from Ginny's arm, down, down. Her eyes follow the drops as they hurdle towards the ground, but she loses track of them. Sight is the only one of her senses that hasn't been enhanced.

"I know," Remus shifts to move his legs in front of him, and as he does so, a leather bracelet wrapped around his right wrist is revealed. Ginny frowns at the symbols itched into the leather. Remus follows her gaze and puts his hand out to her for closer inspection.

"I've never seen anything like it," Ginny says with wonder, and reaches out a finger to track the symbols in the air, not quite touching. A snake, a lion, an eagle and a badger. The eagle's wings are outstretched as he soars, the snake coils around the bracelet so his mouth opens to swallow his tail, the lion stands on his hindlegs and roars, and the badger is on all fours, coiled and ready. She looks back up at Remus, who's studying her. "An ornament with the sigils of all four gods is quite a serious religious no-no."

Remus smiles, "Bravery, loyalty, cunning and wisdom- all important traits, don’t you think? I never believed in the need to choose between them. If I'm only brave and not wise, I will jump into danger and not know what to do. If I'm just wise but not loyal, will I use my wisdom to help others? And without cunning, how will I know how to use any of the other traits?"

Ginny thinks about this for a moment, "I suppose that makes sense. But at the Ceremony, when you were eleven, which god did you chose?"

Remus shrugs, "By that point I was already bitten. My parents couldn't find a priest willing to perform the Ceremony."

"Oh," Ginny winces. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." He says, eyes trained forward. "It was a long, long time ago."

"So, it gets easier?" Ginny asks, though she's not hopeful for herself. She doesn't think things could possibly get easier for her. It's hard to imagine everything not being… _dark_.

Remus shrugs, "Some of it. You know, my friend James once told me the most frustrating thing about me is that I'm resigned to my fate, resigned to how others see me as a monster. Maybe that's why things are easier for me. But it might also be why the situation isn't better for me."

"You don’t fight."

"I fight, I just don’t expect change," Remus corrects quietly.

"If you don’t expect change, why fight?"

"Because, Ginny Weasley, there is nothing else to do."

"Oh," Ginny nods. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

****

Gellert, unlike Albus, does not see any purpose in convening his people together and speaking to them. He doesn’t need their opinions, unless specifically asked for, or their imput. He'll tell them what to do and they'll do it.

He does, however, take Vinda aside outside the house to get an update.

"They even have a werewolf," Vinda growls, looking at the house. "And mudbloods galore, of course."

"He's a half-werewolf," Gellert corrects, only half paying attention.

Vinda frowns at him, "Master, do we truly-"

"Yes, we're going to have to work with them, so don’t even ask," Gellert interrupts, giving Vinda a hard look. "We need them. I will _not_ allow Riddle to be awakened."

"As you say, Master."

 _I really have trained her well,_ Gellert thinks smugly to himself. He begins issuing her orders, telling her where to send his people. As Albus had suggested, Gellert decides to focus his people's attentions in Europe, where old loyalties are hard to shake and a call to arms by the Death Eaters is sure to be answered by more then a few people. After a while, the Order of the Phoenix members begin slipping out of the house and take their leave, most of them glaring at Gellert and Vinda before disappearing. Eventually, Sirius Black leaps out and begins transporting the Death Eaters into the house, including a very furious and foul mouthed Draco.

A little while later, a scream issues from above them, and a red-haired girl comes plummeting onto the ground. Gellert sniffs the air. A mudblood. Another scream follows, and a slightly older looking woman rushes forward and engulfs the girl in what looks like a bone-crushing hug. The girl flinches backwards, as though the touch is physically painful, and the woman freezes. Another figured lands on the ground besides them- the hybrid- and he says something straight into the woman's ear, so low Gellert can't hear.

The woman collapses into the ground.

"Mum!" The girl yells, moving forward. Gellert steps closer, intrigued. "Mum!"

"Oh, my boy, my baby boy…"

"Molly."

Gellert turns at the familiar voice. Albus exits the house with a severe look in his eyes. He walks straight over to the woman on the ground and goes down on his knees beside her. Gellert watches with interest as Albus murmurs into her ears. The woman remains laying on the ground for a few minutes, but then her whole body shutters and she sits up. As she does, Gellert catches the end of Albus's words.

"…strong for Ginny."

The girl puts her hands over her ears, and shakes her head, as though trying to block out the world.

"I want to leave," She gasps. "I can't…be here. I can hear…I can hear the _pain_."

The pin-drop silence is interrupted by the boy- Harry, wasn't that his name? - who moves forward and says, "Then come with me. I'm going to the hospital to get blood."

The girl whips her head to him and she nods, "Anywhere but here."

"I don’t-Ginny, love, I don’t think you should-" the woman moves forward, but stops when the girl recoils from her touch again.

"Actually," The hybrid interrupts calmly. "I think it might be a good idea for Ginny to spend some time away from-"

"From her family?" The woman snaps, but she looks more grief stricken and scared then angry.

"From her family's grief," The hybrid finishes gently.

The woman hesitates, then looks at Ginny. The concern in the eyes of the pureblood towards the mudblood makes Gellert sigh to himself.

"Is…would that be good for you, love?"

Ginny nods, "I want to leave. Please."

"Good, so that's decided," Albus says abruptly. "Remus, take Molly inside. Is Arthur on his way?"

"With…with Bill," Molly wipes her eyes and tries to take a long composing breath. It doesn't work, as she bursts out crying again. _This is becoming tiresome_ , Gellert thinks. _Just send her away._

But Al was never good at sending people away, even after they lost their value.

"Good," Albus's eyes flicker to Gellert. "I'm going to interview Draco. Care to join?"

Gellert grins.


	3. The Philosophical Ideals of Gellert Grindelwald

_There's nothing more dangerous than someone who wants to make the world a better place_

_-Banksy_

Draco isn't sure if this is better or worse. On the one hand, he's regaining control of his limps, which is good. On the other hand, he's cuffed to the wall of a shabby looking cell with only a springy mattress and a bucket in it, which is definitely _not_ good. Draco growls and tugs on the chains attached to his feet, but they don't bulge.

"They're Damascus steel," A voice says calmly behind him. Draco whirls around to see the mudblood girl coming towards him. She walks past the lines of empty cells and settles down on the floor in front of Draco. She doesn’t look like she did at the mansion. Her hair is brushed and braided into thousands of little braids that fall down her shoulder, and she's changed into a dark blue dress with white flower print. It suits her dark complexion. Draco banishes the thought quickly. "The chains. They're made of Damascus steel. They won't move."

"I can see that," Draco growls, giving one last tug for good measure. The mudblood narrows her eyes at him and reaches into her pocket, drawing out a cloth-covered object. Draco frowns at it and then breathes in sharply when the mudblood removes the cloth, exposing the Damascus steel knife.

"How is your shoulder?" She asks mildly, toying with the blade, swinging it back and forth. "Does is still hurt?"

"Fuck you," Draco growls.

"I'll take that as a yes," She says.

"Take it however you want, I don’t care what you believe," Draco replies, but it sounds pathetic even to his own ears. He is in pain, horrific pain, the kind of pain he has never felt before. He has no idea of how to deal with such pain. He has never had to deal with long lasting pain before.

"Hmm," The girl settles down on the floor, crossing her legs in front of her. "You'll have a pretty big scar out of it, I think."

He scowls at her.

"Draco, Grindelwald and Dumbledore are going to come down here and ask you questions. They want to know about your father and aunt's plans."

Draco freezes.

"I don't know anything," He lies smoothly. "No one tells me anything."

"Your mother would, I think. Do you know, what they plan to do now? Do you know if they have enough blood?"

"I don’t know anything, now leave me alone!" Draco yells, and backs as far away from the bars as he can as the girl stands up again, the blade balanced on her open palm.

"If you say so," She says calmly before turning and leaving.

****

"If you say so," Gellert hears the girl say. He smiles to himself at the rigid control in her voice, keeping her from lashing out. It would be entertaining to see her release her fury. _She's a dangerous one_ , he thinks. _I'll need to keep an eye on her._ He looks at Al, who's giving him an intensely worried look.

"Don’t," Albus shakes his head lightly. "Don’t."

"What, love?"

"I know what you're thinking. Stay away from Hermione," He says the last four words very slowly and deliberately.

Gellert frowns and reaches out, placing his fingers on Albus's forehead. His lover flinches slightly, but stays in place.

"Is that jealousy I hear?" He asks.

Albus frowns, looking so genuinely confused that Gellert finds himself unable not to grin.

"You _are_ going to stay away from her," Albus says sharply and moves away from Gellert's fingers. Gellert sighs at the loss of his lover's touch.

"Al," Gellert tilts his head. "You know that girl, she has fury in her."

"Of course she does. You would too, if you were her."

 _Maybe_. "But what are you going to do with that anger, Al? That's what-"

"What would you do?" Al snaps.

Gellert thinks for a moment, "If I couldn’t control her anger it would probably be simplest to end her life."

Albus sighs deeply, and turns to open the door leading to the dungeon. The girl, who's been climbing the stairs, jumps through the door and turns to Al, ignoring Gellert completely, and asks, "Did you hear?"

"I heard," Albus says. "You did very well."

"He _did_ sound scared," The girl looks down at her feet. "But I couldn't tell if he was lying or not."

"He was lying," Albus replies.

"You sound sure, why?" Gellert prompts.

" _I don’t know anything, leave me alone_ ," Albus mimics. "That's a child's temper tantrum of having been found out in a lie."

"So, what will you do now?" The girl asks.

"We'll go down now, you stay up here and listen."

The girl nods and Al smiles at her before stomping down the stairs. Gellert gives the girl one long look before following Albus. They go down the stairs and passed the empty cells.

The boy is seated on the floor when Geller and Al come up to his cell. He looks up, and Al was right: he's definitely afraid.

 _He knows something_ , Gellert thinks. _He doesn’t want us to know he knows_.

It seems that Albus has come to the same conclusion, as he sighs and leans against the bars, his forehead leaning on the metal, and says, "What do you know, Draco?"

The boy shivers, wrapped up in himself, "I don’t know anything."

"Stop lying," Gellert snaps. "You're bad at it."

Draco flinches.

"He's scared," Al says softly. Always so soft when he talks to those weaker then him.

"Terrified," Gellert agrees. "What a disgrace. You're a pureblood, for gods' sake."

That does seem to have an effect on the boy. He sits up and jerks his chin up, "I am not a disgrace. _You_ are the disgrace, for associating with these mudbloods, halfbloods and hybrids. You're a blood traitor."

Gellert shrugs, not bothered, "The enemy of your enemy is your friend."

"The Dark Lord is only an enemy to mudbloods and halfbloods-"

"The Dark Lord is an enemy to everyone unwilling to bow before him," Albus interrupts. "Draco, all he truly ever wanted was control and power. He doesn’t care about anything else."

"You're trying to confuse me, it won't work! I won't believe, I won’t listen to you-"

"Al," Gellert mumbles. "You can't talk sense into the boy."

But Albus gives him a look that makes him quiet down.

"Draco, your mother isn’t dead."

The boy blinks, looking down on the floor, "I know that. What do you think I am, an idiot?"

"You mother isn't dead," Albus repeats. "But Hermione very much wants to kill her."

"She can't, though," Gellert replies, catching on quickly. "I hid them."

"Oh, I told her where they are," Albus replies nonchalantly as Draco's eyes widen. "But you have the knife, right?"

"Huh? Oh, no, she still has it-"

"You wouldn't," Draco shakes his head. "You wouldn't let her, you _wouldn’t_. You…everyone knows you don't hurt innocents- I heard you don’t even kill humans when you feed!"

"Your mother is far from innocent, Draco," There's a hard, dark look in Al's eyes that makes Gellert want to throw him on the floor and take him there, but would probably be incredibly frightening for the boy. "Tell me what you know."

Draco shivers, wrapping his arms around himself, "I…I…there's a second bloodfarm. At the monastery."

"Wool's?" Albus snaps. "Where Riddle was raised?"

"Yes. Now go stop her-"

"Draco," Albus shakes his head, the hard look melting away, "Hermione is not going to hurt your mother. Hermione, can you hear?"

"Yes, sir," The voice from above responds.

"Good, go find Minerva McGonagall-she's the one with the brown hair in a bun- and tell her to go to the Wool's Monastery immediately."  

"You said she has the Damascus steel knife," Draco is shaking. " _Please,_ she'll _kill_ them."

"Hermione is not going to kill unarmed, helpless prisoners," Al gives Draco a poignant look. "No matter how disgraceful she finds them as people."

Without waiting for a response, Albus turns on his heels and leaves the boy to stare behind after him. Gellert, more than slightly amused, follows suit.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "You have to try and save everyone. Even mudbloods-"

Albus stops in his tracks and before Gellert knows what is happening, he's slammed against the wall, Al's fingers curled on his throat. He gasps as he's raised into the air, unable to speak.

"Why," Albus says with commendable calm, given the fury in his eyes, "can't you just… _stop_?"

Gellert raises an eyebrow, pointing down with his eyes to his throat. Al sighs and releases him, sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Gods," Gellert mumbles, coughing and massaging his throat as the bruises Al inflected mend themselves.

"I don't understand you," Albus begins stomping back and forth in the long cell, hands clenched into fists.

"If perhaps you could be more specific-"

"You say that human-born vampires are inferior, and I do believe there is a part of you that believes that…but you also find Riddle and his people distasteful, and don’t tell me it's because they don’t believe exactly what you believe, because you're far too intelligent and far too rational for that kind of justification. So, explain it to me."

"Slow down, love," Gellert raises his hands in surrender and watches as Al stops his stomping and narrows his eyes at him. "Why don’t you sit down?"

"Why?"

"Why are you always so suspicious?" Gellert shakes his head, incredulous. "I just don't want to have to look up."

"You could stand up," Al suggest dryly, but does come to sit down next to Gellert. Farther away then Gellert would have perhaps liked, but, oh well, you take what you can get sometimes.

The silence stretches between them for a bit, and then Gellert asks, "I suppose I have a rather simple ideology. A society always functions better when they have a clear enemy to fight."

"The enemy-friend distinction," Al mumbles.

"Yes, exactly. You see, a society needs an enemy to fight again. One present and strong enough to pose a realistic threat, and that will not be easily defeated or destroyed. Without a clear enemy, a society falls to fight itself-"

"Stop, stop right there," Albus snaps. "You're saying that you've turned human-born vampires into a scapegoat in order to unite the rest of the vampires."

"Except these scapegoats truly are lesser then us," Gellert replies. "I told you before, the difference between our kind are real."

"They're not inferior, they're just different!"

"Different, in many people's minds, equals enemy."

"You're trying to cure an evil with more evil. You…" Albus shakes his head. "Your philosophy is exactly the same as Carl Schmitt's, you do realize that. Remember him? The _Nazi_?"

"It's not _exactly_ the same…" Gellert replies, genuinely offended.

"You- you," Albus shakes his head in desperation. "How, _how_ could you believe something like that, after what we've seen, after the _camps_? I don’t…I don’t understand you."

"Al, I'm not advocating killing the mudbloods," Gellert replies.  

"You don’t hear it, do you? How mad you're sounding right now? You think it's all fine, that you hold the moral high ground as long as you don’t commit mass murders, because you're not as bad as Nazis. That's a rather low bar, Grindelwald. What _you're_ doing is evil, it may even be just as bad as outright killing them. You think it's a worthy exchange-"

"The suffering of thousands over the deaths of millions? Yes, I do. Because let me tell you something, my love. We are _hunters_. And if one prey is eliminated, we will find another. You take away mudbloods' position as inferior and the rest of our population will fall to fighting itself, war after war until there will be none of us left."

"I don't believe that. I don’t believe we need such cruelty to prevent ourselves from destroying one another. I won’t believe that. I refuse to believe that."

"Then, my Al, despite your many years, you are still naïve."

****

Harry blinks at the smell. It's rather overwhelming, all those scents. He throws open the door of the huge fridge, exposing rows and rows of blood bags.

"Jackpot," Harry says, then coughs. The smell really is overwhelming. So much blood, from so many different humans. He turns to see Ginny has raised the large suitcase open, ready to receive the coveted blood bags. She turns her head away from the fridge.

"Disgusting," Ginny mutters. "It smells so _good_."

The two statements are quite contradictory in Harry's opinion, but he decides against asking. He and Ginny have spent hours driving together and she's yet to engage him in any kind of conversation. When Harry asked her questions, she just replied in one syllable answers that left no room for follow up questions, and spent the rest of her time looking out the window and saying nothing.

It became clear to Harry at about hour three of the drive that there was really nothing he could say to take her out of her strange daze.

"All right, here we go," Harry sighs as he begins piling blood bags into the suitcase. Ginny stares at the bags as they fall, one by one. Harry manages to stuff about twenty of them into the suitcase, then stops, holding one last bag. There appears to be room for one more, but he's not quite sure it will fit. Harry shrugs and throws it in.

There isn’t room. It hits one of the other bags, then slips off and down to the floor. Ginny's eyes grow wide at the loud _crash_ and the bag explodes, covering the floor in crimson.

As the bag hits the ground, a low growl issues from Ginny, and she lets go of the suitcase. Harry rushes forward to catch it, then turns to see Ginny landing on her knees on the bloody floor, her palms laying flat on the floor as she leans down lapping the blood up with her tongue like a lioness in the savanna. Her mouth is so close to the ground her face gets covered with blood as well.

Harry watches the animalistic display for a moment. It doesn’t surprise him nearly at all. She _is_ a newborn, after all, and newborns are always more instinct then thought. It's the rush of the change, the shock to the system of new sensations, new needs, that makes one lose their mind. The affect wears off after a while, but seeing in so clearly in front of him makes Harry wonder if perhaps this is the true reason for discrimination against human-born vampires. He can't lie: Ginny lapping blood like an animal is a rather unsettling sight.

Harry watches Ginny lick the blood greedily for a few minutes, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. Eventually, there is nothing left on the floor, so Ginny turns to suck her fingers clean, licking at her palms and arms. When that's done and there's nothing left and Ginny's looking around with a wild, rather frightening look, Harry reaches out grabs another bag and tosses it to Ginny. Instead of opening it, she brings out her claws and slashes the bag open, spilling its contents on the floor. She then leans down, sniffs, and goes back to the licking.

This time, however, she slows down when the blood on the floor is nearly finished, shivers slightly and stops.

Harry, who was busy zipping the suitcase shut, stops his movement and looks at Ginny. She lets out a shuttered breath as she pulls herself up from the floor into a seated position, her back against the wall, her arms tightly wrapped around herself. Her hair lays in sticky clumps around her body. Her face and neck are drenched in blood, making her look as though she had put on a red mask. The blood has drenched her entire face, covering all her creamy skin. The dress she had put on before they left Grimmuald Place is covered as well, the red against yellow and orange giving the impression of a raging fire.

Her eyes are full with horror as she contemplates her own bloody hands, and she says, "It smelled so good."

She says those words as though they are an explanation. Which they are, of course, though Harry had no need for one.

He clears his throat and then says, "It was your first feed. It makes sense that you…" He struggles for words.

"Lost control?" Ginny suggests dryly. "Went feral?"

"You didn't go feral," Harry objects.

"But I _did_ lose control."

"Well, yeah, maybe a bit," Harry is forced to admit.

"I didn’t even realize I was hungry," Ginny says with a frown. "I had this shooting pain in my veins, but now it's gone."

"That's what hunger feels like," Harry says, slightly puzzled.

Ginny shoots him a look, "It's different for humans."

"Is it?" It occurs to Harry that he never asked Hermione that. She often told him what having food was like, what pizza or shakes tasted like. It never occurred to him to ask what a _lack_ of food tasted like. "What is it like, for humans?"

"It's like…" Ginny narrows her eyes in thought. "A pit appears in the middle of your stomach, and the longer you don’t eat the bigger and deeper the hole gets."

"Huh," Harry places his hands on his stomach, trying to envision what that might feel like. "So, its concentrated, not spread out."

"I suppose that's one way of putting it."

"Which hunger is worse?"

"Vampiric hunger," Ginny says without taking a moment to think. "It's more…all consuming."

"Huh," Harry repeats and moves to finish zipping up the suitcase. "We should get going, the sun will come up soon. Let's find you a bathroom to shower and some clean clothes."

He stops as Ginny gasps sharply and scrambles on all fours, away from the stains of blood on the floor. Harry gulps.

"Ginny?" He asks timidly. "Is something wrong?"

 _Stupid, stupid question_ , Harry berates himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. Ginny blinks, and then turns to him, her face oddly blank.

"I just…I just drank human blood."

"Yeah…" Harry had no idea what to say to that.

"I just…I guess it just hit me. I drank human blood, and it was really _good_. I was human a few days ago. And now, I drank blood from a human."

Well, put that way it _did_ sound rather horrifying. Harry runs through his head all his options for response. 'Well, you're not a human anymore' seems insensitive. 'Sorry' seems a little bland and unhelpful. 'That must be awful'- does that sound insensitive, since he doesn’t have any idea how it may feel?

In the end he says, "I'm sorry you're suffering." It's the only thing he can think that sounds even remotely right to say.

That seems like the wrong thing to say, as Ginny bursts out into laughter that has no humor to it and she shakes her head and says, "You really have no idea, do you?"

Harry almost says that of course he doesn't, he's never been a human, but something in Ginny's tone makes him think that she's referring to some defect in him, some derelict in his perception of the situation. Not knowing what it is he's missing, Harry croaks out, "Sorry." Even he can hear how insufficient the word is.

And indeed, Ginny sighs, almost as though she's disappointed in him, and she stands up and says with finality, "Let's find me a shower."

****

Albus had decided long ago that he loves Gellert much like one loves family, like he loves his sister, brother and parents: unconditionally. His love was as nonnegotiable as gravity, unchanging, unaltered no matter what occurs.

But love is one thing. Trust, respect and general like are other things entirely. Albus loves Gellert now and forever, but he doesn’t always trust respect or like him. And right now, he's finding Gellert worthy of neither respect nor trust. Right now, as he walks away from Gellert, still slumped against the wall, he's finding him quite unlikable. He's finding him reprehensible.

Hermione is seated on the recliner she and Harry occupied together earlier. He sighs when he sees the horrified look on her face and slumps down on the black sofa pressed against the wall.

"I told McGonagall about the bloodfarm, they've already gone," Hermione says, voice deceivingly calm.

"Well done."

"I heard everything he said," Hermione blurts out. "Grindelwald, I mean."

"I know who you mean, Hermione," Albus sighs.

"It was…a strange thing to hear. To hear someone sounding so rational when talking about something so despicable."

That was, in Albus's opinion, an incredibly succinct way of putting it. He was finding it difficult to understand as well.

"Sir, do you think…he really believes what he says? I couldn’t tell, by listening to him, not exactly," Hermione was speaking quietly, so Gellert couldn’t hear her.

Albus rubs his face, "I'm sure either, Hermione. But I think of it this way: have you ever wanted to believe something so badly that you managed to convince yourself it was true, and it became so true in your mind that you forgot that it was you who told yourself that to begin with?"

Hermione thinks for a moment and then says, "What you're saying is that he didn't used to believe in pureblood superiority, but because he needed a scapegoat he convinced himself that that was true?"

"Yes," Albus nods. "I think…that might be the case. But I don’t know."

"That's worse."

"Hmm?"

"That's worse then actually believing it. you're saying he knew what he was doing was wrong, and he did it anyway. And now he doesn’t think it's wrong anymore."

"If I believed what he believes, about the need for an enemy to keep a society alive, I think I would have done the same. I too would have forced myself to believe in pureblood superiority. How could someone live with himself, knowing he was doing something so utterly, utterly wrong? I couldn’t," Albus replies, finding himself thinking out loud.

"You said his thought process was similar to the philosophy of Carl Schmitt. I think the mistake may have been following a Nazi philosopher to begin with."

"Yes, that's true," Albus agrees. "And that's the root of the problem with him, isn’t it? The fact that he believes so strongly that a scapegoat is necessary."

"For all his talk of how superior purebloods are, he doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of them, does he? Since he seems to think they're unable to live in peace with each other."

 _He doesn’t have a high opinion of anyone_ , Albus thinks _. Expect himself_.

_And me._

"I think I understand, though. You hope that you can save Grindelwald, like you hope I can save Draco."

"Yes, I suppose that's true. And what do you think, am I being a delusional old man?"

"Oh, I hope not. I don’t want to live in a world where love cannot beat hate."

****

"Sun's coming up," Ginny hears Harry say. She keeps her eyes closed as the car comes to a stop and Harry unbuckles himself. "We need to move to the back."

Ginny sighs and opens her eyes. Sure enough, the sky is a predawn red. They're parked at the side of a long stretched of road, with nothing but snow-covered fields as far as the eye can see. Ginny joins Harry at the back of the minivan, and he pulls a black curtain across, cutting them off from the front seats. The back of the minivan is a dark and empty little space with only the suitcase of blood and a wooden bench lined against the side.

The windows are darkened, so there is very little natural light in the back of the van, just enough for Ginny to see her way to the bench. She settles down in a laid down position, so there is no room for Harry and no chance that he will try and sit besides her. She's scared and confused and really just wants to sleep, which she doubts she'll be able to do with Harry's presence so near.

Harry seems to take the hint, as he sits down on the floor next to the suitcase. He sniffs at it and says, "It still smells so strong."

"Hmm," Ginny mumbles, closing her eyes again. She sniffs the air, smelling the scents of the different blood samples. It's less powerful to her now that she's full, but it's still distracting and not entirely pleasant. It's rather like being in a room with freshly baked cakes, a few sizzling steaks, melted cheese and mulled wine. Each smell on their own is quite nice, but when put all together it becomes to much, overwhelming.

The smell, however, was not enough to lore Ginny away from sleep. She sighs deeply and curls into herself, slipping easily into sleep.

****

The screams force Harry out of his dreams. He jerks upwards, his head hitting the minivan's side, making his eyes blur for a moment. When he blinks the blurriness away, he sees a red cloud of hair being thrown through the air as the screaming countinues.

"Ginny!" Harry gasps, rushing forward. She's thrusting on the floor, having fallen off the bench, her eyes shut closed, her limps flailing around her. the screams issuing from her mouth are loud and horrified, and don’t seem to be nearing an end.

"Ginny?"

Claws reach out to slash the air in front of him. Horrified, Harry leans in and shakes Ginny's shoulder. There's a gasp as the screams subside, and then eyes fly open.

There is a look of pure terror in the emerald greens, and before Harry can process what is happening, his belly has been slashed open.

Harry gasps, white, hot agony taking over his mind. He stumbles backwards, hand on his belly, slowly covering with blood, holding the wound closed to prevent his guts from spilling out. He groans as his flesh mends itself, the pain subsiding.

When his belly returns to normal, he looks up to see Ginny, huddled into herself, back on the bench. Her wild red hair hides most of her face, but one eye shines out at Harry, fury and fear and confusion warring for dominance.

"Don’t touch me," She gasps.

"Ginny…" Harry makes a move forward, but she braces herself against the wall. Harry freezes, then shuffles backwards, as far from Ginny as he can. "I'm sorry. I'll stay here, all right."

She's shaking, her whole body is shivering with fear.

"I said, don’t touch me," Ginny repeats. "Don’t touch me, don’t take my blood."

"Ginny, no one's going to take your blood," Harry says, keeping his voice gentle. "You're not in the farm anymore, it's over. It was just a dream. Just…a memory."

Ginny swallows, her body still shaking.

"I'm not going to touch you," Harry finds himself saying. "No one will _ever_ touch you again."


	4. New and Old Loves

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage_

_-Lao Tzu_

Al comes into the room holding two bags of blood and throws them at Gellert, who catches them in the air. He's sitting on a large, round bed in one of the many bedrooms housed in Grimmuald Place. Gellert had heard Al's boy and the mudblood girl return a few minutes earlier, and could smell that they been successful in their search for blood.

He sniffs at the bags, "They don't smell so good, do they?"

Albus shrugs and leans against the closed door, "You don’t like any old blood."

That was true, Gellert prefers drinking directly from the source. Blood was always better when fresh. Still, he had smelled the rest of the blood the children brought, and some smelled better. Al purposely got him the ones he knew Gellert would find the most unappealing.

"I know you're upset with me, my love-"

"Unless you're using your mouth to drink blood, I don’t want you to open it right now," Albus interrupts dryly.

"What if I use it for-"

"Just drink," Albus sighs. "Drink and have a vision, please."

"What do you want me to see?" Gellert asks, resigned to not using his mouth on Al for now.

"Where Riddle is," Albus replies.

Gellert places his palm on the bag. He needs to drink an enormous amount of human blood in order to activate his seer abilities. The gorging on too much blood is always rather uncomfortable, it makes him feel far too full, like he's about to explode. He uncocks the blood bag and starts chugging.

"Disgusting, just disgusting," He groans as he empties the blood bag and throws it to Al, who catches it easily.

"Is that enough?" Al asks.

Gellert closes his eyes, head tilted backwards, "Hmm…a bit more."

He opens the second blood and drinks half of the bag. With a sigh, he closes the bag again and then says, " _Now_ , it’s enough."

His eyes flutter to a close as he leans backwards, laying down on the bed, his head hitting the cushions. There's a second of silence and then he sees it.

_The white ruins of a castle on a hill, cold dungeons underneath, a shivering green light reflecting an open casket where a pale, beautiful man lays with his arms folded on his chest._

"Gellert?" Al's soft voice forces Gellert out of his vision. He gasps and opens his eyes, and sees his lover's face staring down at him. Gellert smiles and reaches out, his fingers brushing against Al's nose. "What did you see?"

"They put him in Čachtice Castle," He mumbles.

"Countess Bathory's castle?" Albus's forehead crinkles. Gellert's hand goes up to smooth it clear.

"We'll have to go to Hungary," Gellert whispers. "Remember Erzsébet Bathroy? Now _there_ was a lady..."

"Czechoslovakia."

"Hmm?" Gellert keeps smoothing over Al's forehead.

"It's not in Hungary anymore."

"Really?" Gellert frowns. "When did that happen?"

"A while ago," Albus says dryly. Gellert grins and places his arms around Al, flipping him around, so that Albus is slammed against the mattress and Gellert is looming over him.

"So, another road trip," Gellert grins and leans in. Al gasps sharply as Gellert's fingers come to his shirt and start unbuttoning it.  "Just me and you."

"There are people in the house," Albus says, his pulse fluttering. "They can hear- _stop_ ," he gasps as Gellert pushes his shirt to the sides, exposing a white undershirt. Gellert rolls his eyes and takes out his claws, slashing at the white cloth to expose his chest.

Gellert smiles to himself and leans down, starting to trial soft kisses on his lover's chest, up to his neck and ear.

"Let them hear," He whispers low into Al's ear, causing him to shiver. "I want everyone to hear how I can make you scream. I want everyone to hear how you're _mine_."

"Stop, stop," Albus squirms underneath him as his member grows hard. "Not here."

Well, Gellert can live with that. Not here means yes somewhere else.

"Back to Europe, then," He sighs, slipping off Al's body. "Can I ask you something, love?"

"Can I stop you?"

"What are you planning on doing, when we find Riddle? Will you let me kill him?"

Albus jerks away from him, sitting up, his ruined undershirt slumping in front of him.

"Have you even thought about it?"

"Of course I have," Albus mumbles, bringing his legs up and placing his forehead on his knees.

"Sweetheart," Gellert says gently, moving closer to Albus and placing a hand on his arm. "It would be safest, better for everyone, if Riddle was dead."

"I don’t want to kill him," Albus mumbles. "I don’t…but he has to be killed."

"So, you'll let me do it?" Gellert asks.

"No, Gellert," Albus looks straight at him, that maddeningly dark look to his eyes, the one that tests Gellert's self-control so terribly. "Riddle was my student, his fall to the darkness is my fault, and so it is my reasonability to bring him down. I will kill him."

****

Dumbledore and Grindelwald leave the next night, as soon as the sun goes down. Hermione and Harry watch them leave in a dark blue van from the kitchen window. Other then the two of them, the only people left in the house are Ginny and her mother, and they're upstairs, in the room Ginny was given, the one closest to the roof.

"Did you hear where they were going?" Harry asks.

Hermione nods, "To the castle of Countess Bathory." She doesn’t add, _I'm glad they're gone_. She doesn't think she can face either of them right then.

"The serial killer."

"The most prolific female serial killer of all times," Hermione says.

"Gods, you're petantic."

"I like being correct."

"So, they're going to the castle of the long dead Blood Countess and we're left with nothing to do," Harry sighs. "Unless you want to go exploring?"

"Exploring?" Hermione frowns.

"Yeah, this house is incredibly old, there's tones of things to see. Come, I'll show you some stuff."

"All right…" Hermione agrees, following Harry out of the kitchen. He takes her up a few floors and into a large bedroom.

"My godfather's childhood room," Harry announces.

"Yeah, I can see that," Hermione smiles. "The stuffed animals on the bed give it away."

"Yeah," Harry slumps down on the large bed and grabs one of the old-fashioned bears.

"When was he born?" Hermione asks as she looks over a large painting in the Romantic style, showing a landscape of a field engulfed by a storm.

"In 1801. He was thirty when the first war against Voldemort started."

Hermione nods, continuing to go over the decorations on the wall. She stops in front of a lion sigil itched into the wall. The symbol of the Red God seems out of palace in the house, where Hermione has only seen signs of devotion to the Green God. She turns to Harry with a raised eyebrow, "Your godfather chose the Red God in his Ceremony?"

"Yeah, and his family was _not_ pleased," Harry grins. He jumps off the bed, "Here, let me show you something."

He moves over to a desk and takes out a large locket, throwing it to Hermione. She catches it and takes a look. It's heavy and gold, with a green snake curling on it, "Oh, it's a Slytherin locket."

"Most of the pureblood families have all the four saint's items: a Gryffindor sword, a Hufflepuff cup, a Ravenclaw diadem and a Slytherin locket. Not the Blacks, they only have the locket. Open it."

Hermione frowns and opens the locket. Inside are carved two words, _Toujours Pur._

"Always pure," Hermione translates. Must be a family motto.

"Since when do you speak French?" Harry demands.

"Since I heard you talking to Dumbledore about me in French."

"You learned French just so we couldn't talk about you behind your back? That's dedication."

"I'm also teaching myself Latin," Hermione replies, just to see Harry groan.

"Really, 'mione, if you wanted to learn Latin you could have just asked me to teach you," Harry says with a sigh.

"All vampire children know Latin," Harry and Hermione turn to see Ginny entering the room. "In Europe it's the common language between vampires of different cultures."

Hermione notices Harry gulp and turn away from Ginny. She notes the reaction and moves forward towards Ginny, keeping an appropriate distance. She can see Ginny's skittish energy. She'll run away if Hermione came to close.  

"You must know Latin as well."

"Of course," Ginny shrugs her hair out of her face and looks down at the locket. "A Slytherin locket."

"The Blacks'," Hermione replies.

"It looks quite expensive," Ginny says. "My family had a pure gold one once. But my father sold it about a hundred years earlier to held fund an orphanage that was about to close down. We have a cooper one now."

She puts her hands up and Hermione hands over the locket. The female vampire turns it over and then asks, "Which god did you choose, Harry?"

"Me?" Harry starts. "The Red God."

"My brothers and parents too," Ginny replies. "I wonder who I would have chosen. How about you, Hermione? Do you believe in God?"

The one with a capital G.

"Yes, of course," Hermione say. "I'm a Baptist. "

"Still?" Harry asks. He shrugs when Ginny and Hermione turn to look at him. "I mean, it's a human religion. That's all."

"It's one of the last things I have left from my family," Hermione replies with a frown. "I'm not going to give up on what my family gave me because I'm no longer human. I'm still their daughter."

Sundays were her favorite, growing up. Her mother and stepfather didn’t go to work, and she and her half-siblings got to wear their best clothes. In church, there was music and singing and a sense of something good, and afterwards she'd walk home beside her parents and listen to the adults talk the way they only did when relaxed, not about their hard jobs or their money issues or the newest development in the civil rights movement, but about their children, about the neighbors, about who was pregnant and who had given birth, who had married and who had gotten engaged. It was the time Hermione felt the most connected to her community and life. Most of the time, she just didn’t feel like she belonged.

"I never really believed in any god," Ginny says.

"But you must have gone to a human school, right?" Harry asks. "So, you must have been taught about a human god."

"I studied in London, at a Christian school. But at home my family worshiped the Red God. So, it was…"

"Confusing?" Hermione suggests when Ginny looks like she'll searching for a word.

"Yes," Ginny nods. "Very confusing. I think my parents wanted me to believe in some human god, to make me more connected with the human world."

"I think that makes sense," Hermione says with a frown. "I probably would have done the same."

"Oh, it was a waste of time," Ginny replies. "I always felt connected to the human world, always felt that that was where I belonged. I _was_ a human, after all."

 _So was I_ , Hermione thinks bitterly, _and I never felt that._

****

"Anything else?" Albus asks.

He hears Hermione click her tongue, "Got a message from Remus, he's in Russia. He said he found a werewolf pack there. He wrote that he thinks they might accept him."

"That's very good," Though Albus is not happy. He doesn’t like the idea of Remus around werewolves. Like vampires, werewolves were not fond of hybrids. This could easier go wrong, and Remus could find himself torn apart by furious werewolves.

"We didn’t hear anything from McGonagall," Hermione continues. "Kingsley called, though. He said that he had to prevent an attack on the Ministry worker he's shadowing."

"I see," Albus frowns. "What happened?"

"He killed the attacker. It was a dark goblin, he said."

"The Death Eaters are recruiting, as he expected."

"And quickly, it's only been a week."

"You'd be surprised how fast things can go when vampires truly rush. And how is everything holding up at headquarters?"

Hermione sounds like she's grinning. "Harry says that we're becoming secretaries, he wants to be in the action more."

"That sounds like him," Albus smiles to himself. "And how about you? Finding things boring?"

"A little. But we're fine here, promise."

"That's good to hear. How is Ginny?"

Hermione sighs deeply, and her voice grows low, "Every day, she wakes up at least twice screaming. I hear her. And yesterday, when we lit a fire, she started…shaking, her whole body. Sometimes she's quiet and doesn’t say anything, just watches us."

"Shell shock."

"Huh?"

"After the Great War, that's what it was called. It's called gross stress reaction, now. You might know it as Vietnam combat reaction."

"Oh. I know what that is. But…Ginny hasn't been in war."

"I think what Ginny's been through is just as bad as a war, don't you think?"  

"Yes," Hermione says, and Albus can hear the frown in her voice. "It's sad."

"Yeah…"

"Where are you?" Hermione sounds like she wants to change the subject.

"Motel outside of Prague."

"Oh, you're going to Prague? Will you go to the National Theater? It's supposed to be beautiful-"

"No, I don’t think we will," Albus smiles to himself at her enthusiasm. "We don’t have time. But if you want to go there, I can take you when this is all over."

 _It might be over soon,_ he thinks. _If all goes to plan, I will kill a sleeping man soon._

"Have you ever been to Prague?"

"There are very few places in Europe I haven't been in," Albus replies. Though the last time he'd been to Prague had been…around the sixteenth century, he thinks. He assumes it's changed quite a bit since then. He looks up as the door to the motel room opens and Gellert walks in. "I'll call you later, all right?"

"All right," Dumbledore can hear Hermione's confusion. "Be careful, sir."

Dumbledore smiles gently, "I will, don’t worry about me. Just…stay in Grimmuald Place, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore hangs the phone and sighs, rubbing his face. Gellert slips into Al's bed (this time they got two beds), folding his legs and tiling his head slightly to the side. The blond looks beautiful as his blond hair tumbles off his shoulder, his miss-matched eyes piercing into Albus.

 _Gods, he's beautiful_ , Albus finds himself thinking. He groans inwardly and leans back on the pillows, resting his head against the wooden frame of the bed. _I love him, why do I love him?_

_Does it matter?_

"Sun's coming up," Gellert says. "How are things at Grimmuald Place?"

"Everything seems fine," Albus replies with a sigh. "The Death Eaters recruited dark goblins."

"Dark goblins. Always fun," Gellert says, and then starts moving forward, stalking like a panther towards Albus. "Never mind that, now. There's nothing we can do until the night."

No, there's nothing they can do today. There's nothing Albus can do today. Gellert looks at him, expectant, face inches from Albus's. He wants him, he wants him so _badly_. Gods, he shouldn't. It's wrong, he's a despicable man, Albus shouldn't love him as much as he does. He wished he didn't, he wished he could love someone else, anyone else, as much as he loves Gellert.

 _Don’t_ , he tells himself. _Don’t_ do _it. Don’t touch him._

"Why not?" Gellert whispers, and Albus knows he's not reading his mind, Gellert doesn’t have that ability. He simply knows him well enough to guess at what he's thinking. "Why not? Why are your fingers wavering in the air? Just put them on me."

_No, no. Don’t do it._

But he can't stop himself. He's never been able to stop himself when it comes to this. Albus sighs and pulls himself up, pushing Gellert onto the bed.

"Oh, good," Gellert smirks.

"Shut up," Albus growls, and when Gellert looks like he might speak anyway, he covers his mouth with his own.

****

"-filthy mudbloods, let me out!"

"He's started again," Harry says.

"Yes, I can hear him too," Hermione replies dryly. They're in the kitchen, all four of them, playing a game of poker. Or at least, trying to, because it's getting quite impossible to concentrate. Draco has started yelling again. He seems to do this every few hours, whenever anger takes over despair.

"That poor boy," Mrs. Weasley sighs. She smiles gently at the three of them. "Perhaps I should go speak to him?"

They had tried that the day before. Draco had called Mrs. Weasley a blood traitor and refused to look at her.

"-blood traitors, when my master awakes he'll have all of your heads! I'm not a _poor boy_ -"

Ginny rolls her eyes, putting down her cards flat on the table, "I can't concentrate. I'm going to my room."

"Wait, love-" Mrs. Weasley takes a step forward, but Ginny's already fled the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley sighs and turns to Harry and Hermione, "I should go after her. You two let me know if there's anything I can do, all right?"

"All right, Mrs. W, thanks," Harry grins. Mrs. Weasley pats his cheek fondly before following Ginny. Harry follows her with his eyes and then turns to Hermione, "I say we gag him."

"-fuck you, don’t you dare put a hand on me! -"

"Tempting," Hermione replies, then whispers into Harry's ear, "I'll go talk to him."

Harry frowns, and whispers back, "Why?"

Hermione shrugs, "I promised Dumbledore I'd try."

"And?" Harry prompts.

"I don’t know," Hermione replies honestly, pitching her voice loud enough for Draco to hear. "Maybe it's just that he's less imposing then he thinks he is."

"Go to hell, filthy mudblood!"

Harry rolls his eyes, "Have fun, then."

Not likely. Work is hardly ever fun.

****

The blond vampire is banging the walls with his fists when Hermione approaches. He stops as she seats herself on the ground in front of his cell and turns around, sneering.

"Give it to me," He snaps.

Hermione looks down at her hands, where she has a blood bag and metal cup.

"Are you hungry?" She asks, putting the cup on the floor and opening the blood bag, she pours about two inches of red liquid into the cup. "Here."

She pushes the cup into the cell with her foot. Immediately, Draco rushes forward and grabs the cup, swallowing the blood in it in one gulp. He shivers slightly, "Give me more."

"Give me the cup back," Hermione asks. Draco snarls and pushes the cup towards her. She takes it and pours another small portion of blood into it, but drinks it herself before pouring some back and placing it next to her feet, out of Draco's reach.

"Don’t play games," Draco growls. "Just let me have the blood, I need to drink."

"I will," Hermione promises. "But I want to talk to you, and I don't think you'll do that without an incentive."

"So, you're going to starve me."

"That's a rather dramatic way of putting it," Hermione replies dryly. "You're not going to die, are you?"

"I'm hungry, I'm in pain, you fil-"

"Stop," Hermione snaps. "I see we need to set some rules of engagement. You use those terms, and I will get up and leave and you will get no more blood. Clear?"

Draco sneers at her, but snaps, "Clear."

"Great," Hermione grins humourlessly. "I have a question."

"What?"

"Do you speak Latin?"

"Of course I speak Latin. What kind of stupid question is that?"

"So, can you help me learn?" Draco blinks at her, his eyes borrowing into her.

"I don’t understand," Draco frowns at her, looking almost amusingly confused. "Why are you…trying to…talk to me?"

Hermione decides to be honest, "I think…that having despicable ideas doesn’t make you a despicable person. I don’t think you're a despicable person."

"I see," Draco growls. "You think you can _save me_. Well, I don’t need saving. I don’t need your help, I don’t need anything from a-"

He manages to stop himself, but Hermione's had enough. She sighs and stands up.

"You know what, I think you're right," Hermione tells Draco and throws the blood bag to him. "It's not worth it."

As she walks away, she almost thinks she can hear Draco call back to her, but she may have been imagining it.

Most likely. Probably.  

She finds she's rather pleased with herself.

****

The second time the girl comes to him, she brings two books with her. The girl settles down on the floor in front of Draco and pushes over the two books.

"I thought you might be bored," She says, sounding rather… _sheepish_.

"Hmm," Draco frowns, moving forward. He picks up one of the books and looks over the cover, "I've never heard of this book. What is it?"

" _Anna Karenina_ , it's a human book," She explains. "My favourite."

"I see," Draco puts the book down in slight disgust, and picks up the second book. He knows this one. "The Gospel of Slytherin."

"I assumed you follow of the Green God," The girl says. "But if you want one of the other gospels, I can get it as well."

"I follow the Green God," Draco replies, looking down at the gospel. "Thank you."

The girl blinks at him, and he's just as shocked. He had not intended to thank the mudblood, the words had just slipped out of his mouth. He feels the need to add, "But I don’t need to read a filthy human's book."

Somehow the statement doesn't seem to bother the girl. She just grins at him, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. It occurs to Draco that perhaps he had not sounded as vehement as he would have liked.

"Well, I'll leave you to your reading," She stands up. "It was nice talking to you."

She sounds almost sincere. Draco waits until he can hear her upstairs, and gingerly picks up the human book.

****

When Hermione goes down for the third time, the next day, holding a bag of blood, she's rather shocked to find Draco sitting with crossed legs on the cot, his nose buried into the leather-bound copy of _Anna Karenina_. He does not even stop when he hears her approach, or when she settles onto the floor, into what is becoming her spot. She waits patiently for a few minutes as pages are turned, until finally Draco sighs deeply and puts the book down.

He blinks down at the book and then up at Hermione. She props her chin on her knee and says, "It's a captivating book, I know."

"Why didn’t she take the divorce?" Draco growls. "After she gives birth to the baby, her husband offers a divorce, and she says no! Why would she do that? It's ridiculously foolish."

"Umm," Hermione frowns. That was _not_ what she had expected to hear. She's surprised that Draco is not even trying to hide his interest in a human book. "I think she felt it would be immoral."

"Immoral?" Draco scoffs.

"She was already cheating on her husband, I suppose she didn’t think it was right to take his son away from him."

"But she left," Draco shakes his head. "She ran to Europe and left her son. And why did she have to have an affair? That was incredibly stupid."

"She was in love," Hermione grins. "I don’t think you can think clearly when you're in love."

Draco scoffs again, "Even if you're in love, you shouldn’t let that influence your decisions."

"Well, you've clearly never been in love, if you think that," Hermione replies with a shake of the head, and is shocked to see Draco blush. She clears her throat and says, "What did you think about Kitty refusing Levin's offer?"

They talk for about an hour, about _Anna Karenina_. It's a strangely relaxing time, and when Hermione eventually gets up to leave, Draco mumbles after her, "If you have more books by this author, you can get them for me if you like."

She has to hide her triumphant smile.


	5. Čachtice Castle

_Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable_

_\- Neil Gaiman_

Čachtice Castle-or rather, its remains- is made of a light white stone that is quite beautiful against the pure white snow that surrounds the hills. Gellert runs a hand on one of the bricks, remembering the one time he had been to the castle during the lifetime of Countess Bathory. It was after her trial, when she had been placed on house arrest in a room with no windows. Some bishop or other had contacted both Gellert and Al, asking for their help with the countess, who he thought might be 'possessed by the devil'. The two of them, Al and him, had gone to the castle to speak to the mad woman. How could they resist, speaking to a human who's last for blood was greater then some vampires'?

They had been shown into an anteroom by a severe looking guard. The countess's room was bricked up, with slits on the doors to allow the guards to slip food and rink to her. It was Al who had leaned close in, to look inside the room, and it was Albus who spoke first.

"Countess," He had spoken in her tongue.

"Have you come to kill me?" She has asked, softly. She had sounded excited by the prospect.

"No, Countess Bathory," Albus had replied. Gellert had noticed how the guards were moving backwards, scared just from the sound of her voice. "We have not come to kill you."

"I would have you kill me," The countess had said. "I would have you make me as you are."

Gellert had frozen, and the guards had blinked at him in confusion. Only Albus had remained composed, unchanging and unmoving. He had simply asked, "And what is it you think we are, my lady?"

"You are demons called up by God, granted immortality through consuming the blood and souls of men," The woman had replied. "I have tried, for so long, tried and failed-"

"Is that why you killed those girls, tortured them, bathed in their blood?" Albus had asked. "Did you think it would make you immortal?"

A hand had reached out through the slit in the bricks, a pale, thin hands with the wrist exposed to Albus.

"I have done all this for you," Bathory had gasped. "All this was a sacrifice for you. A gift. So you will accept me as your own."

Albus had turned to Gellert, and then said, "I have nothing to give you, Countess, but the certainty that you shall die before long and no Heaven will be waiting to welcome you."

Then he had turned and left.

It had been an interesting experience.

"I hate this part of being immortal," Albus says, looking around the ruined castle. "Everything decays, everything disappears."

"I know," Gellert replies. "Human structures never last."

"And it was a beautiful castle…" Albus sighs.

"Al, love," Gellert rolls his eyes. "You're being somewhat overdramatic."

"Hmm?" Albus blinks, then he smiles sheepishly. It was sweet. "Yes, I suppose I am…"

"Come one then," Gellert says. "Let's go find our _Dark Lord_."

Albus gives him a sharp look, then moves forward, hands trailing the stones, "You can still feel the pain from this place. The people who died here and the suffering inflicted."

"She was magnificent, wasn't she?" Gellert says in admiration. When Al looks at him with half-amusement, half-exasperation he adds, "for a human."

"A-ha," Al leans down on the ground, his fingers on the snow. "There's something here."

Gellert joins him, placing his hand on the snow. There is a hollow feel to the area, as if there's no earth underneath it. He moves the snow aside, exposing the cold, hard ground. Slashing with claws, the ground breaks from underneath, moves and is shoved to the side by Al. Underneath the ground, instead of simply more earth, there is a hard, grey metal.

"An underground hold," Albus mumbles. "There must be a way to get in. Let's keep digging."

They dig on, moving snow and earth to the size, slowly but surely exposing what turns out to be a door laid on the ground, about two meters in length and half a meter in width. Albus is the one to find the handle, locked- of course. And they don’t have the key.

"Wait a moment," Al says, leaning over the lock. Gellert, who's sitting on the door, shuffles closer to see Al sticking one of his claws into the lock. He grimaces as he moves his claw around with a concentrated frown.

"You’re not going to open the door without warning me, righ-"

The words are caught in his throat as the lock clicks and the door opens, sending him falling.

He falls. The wind whips his hair around him, making it difficult to see, not that he thinks there's much to take in as he plummets through the air. He's falling through a dank and dark tunnel, and his outstretched fingers graze stone all around. The tunnel has been build out of bricks, like a large and over-deep well. He wonders aimlessly to himself how he's expected to make his way back up. Maybe Al can go get a rope or something.

Gellert lands elegantly on the ground. The ground is made of stone as well, and he's in some kind of long dark hallway, shrouded in darkness. The ceiling is high but it's a rather narrow hallway, so that two people could not walk one next to the other. Gellert takes a few steps forward, touching the walls. The stones feel old and warn out.

"Al," He calls out. "I'm in a hall-"

Albus lands on the ground behind him. as elegantly as Gellert had, feet and palms pressed on the floor. He raises himself up and looks around. Gellert groans.

"Why did you jump down?" He asks.

"It was a mistake, I didn’t realize the door would open," Albus replies, still looking around. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Gellert replies. "But why did you _jump_?"

Al looks at him like he's the mad one, "I wasn't going to let you stay alone."

"That's a rather touching sentiment," And Gellert's heart _is_ clenching a little bit too much. "But now we're stuck down here together. Did you think about that?"

"We'll figure it out, later," Albus says, simply. He starts walking down the hall before stopping and tilting his head. They both sniff the air and freeze.

"Dragon," Albus says, rather pointlessly.

Somewhere far ahead of them is a dragon. A Romanian Longhorn, if Gellert is not mistaken.

"I can't believe it," Gellert mumbles. "I thought they were all extinct."

"For hundreds of years," Albus agrees. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised the Ministry hid one or two of them. Come on, let's get going."  

Al walks ahead of him, fingers trailing the wall. With a sigh, Gellert follows. He was never a big fan of dragons.

****

They walk for hours, with Gellert right behind him. He keeps his fingers on the stone wall, tracking their progress. The stones are smooth and comfortable under his skin. Gellert doesn’t speak as they walk, and only opens his mouth once Albus stops.

"What is it?"

"A door," Albus replies. An iron door, he thinks. He touches the walls and finds they're blackened from flames.

"And beyond, a dragon," Albus sniffs the air.

Albus puts his hand on the door, feeling the vibrations as a dragon stumps around. He frowns and leans his forehead on the door.

"A Chinese Fireball," Gellert says.

"The Ministry must have had a way to control the dragon," Albus muses out loud. "They have to have a way to get past it."

"Al, open the door," Gellert says. "There's nothing here."

Albus sighs deeply and opens the door.

And immediately, a mushroom shaped cloud of fire comes hurling towards them. He grabs Gellert and throws them both to the side as the fire consumes the hallway where they stood a moment earlier.

Albus coughs, slammed into the floor. Gellert pushes him up and Albus blinks, looking around.

They're in a huge dumed chamber, and the only interesting thing to be seen in the chamber is a red dragon chained to the ground by a large padlocked chain. The dragon roars, moving stalking forward towards Albus and Gellert.

"Move!" Gellert yells, grabbing Albus and pulling him to the side. One again, the spot where they just left is engulfed by flames, illuminating the chamber. Albus sees a door on the opposite side, and points it out to Gellert.

"All right," Gellert sighs, keeping a hold on Albus's wrist. "Ready?"

"Ready," Albus leaps forward.

The dragon turns its head towards Albus, his mouth opening to shoot more fire out. Albus can see the fire forming in the wide-open mouth looming over him, but then there's the sound of something slashing, and the dragon growls and turns itss head to look at the side. Albus, knowing Gellert is slicing into the dragon's leg but not bothering to look, closes his palm into a fist and brings it down against the dragon's exposed head.

His fist meets an open eyeball, and Albus grinds his teeth in disgust as the slimy muscles explode around him. The dragon roars in fury and pain, and Albus flips himself onto the creature, so he's seated on the dragon's neck, carefully avoiding the many yellow spikes shooting out all around him.

"Gellert?" He calls out, suddenly concerned when he can't see the other vampire.

"Here!" Gellert appears, running from under the dragon, dragon blood covering him form head to toe. "I slashed its belly-"

The dragon roars and tracks Gellert with its one remaining eye. It opens its mouth, and Albus moves forward and slashes down with his claws, breaking down scales and sending a spirt of blood which he carefully avoids. The dragon, distracted from its pursuit of Gellert, begins to shake its head, trying to rid itself of Albus. Albus grabs hold of a spike as the shakes get wilder and wilder, and he sucks in a breath as he's thrown off the dragon's back and hangs in the air.

The dragon shakes its head again, making Albus's hold on the spike slacken, but he manages to hold on.

"Al, let go, will you!" Gellert yells from underneath.

Albus growls and releases one arm. The dragon turns to Gellert, who's slashing at its legs, moving from one to the other while avoiding behind crushed by them. He takes out his claws and swings his arm into the air, sinking them deep into the spike. The dragon roars again, and Albus feels the spike begin to crack around his claw. He gives it a tug and suddenly he's falling through the air, holding a broken spike in his hand.

He lands quite ungracefully on the ground, his knees buckling under him, still holding the spike. He quickly scrambles up as a tail comes crashing down at him, and raises the spike. It penetrates the tail and the dragon lets out a screech of pain. Albus hurries out of the way of the thrusting tail as the dragon tries to get the spike out.

As the dragon focuses on the tail, Gellert rushes over to one of its legs and slashes at it so hard it tumbles underneath him. Albus doesn’t waste time, throwing himself past the tail and kicking at the closest leg to him as powerfully as he can. He hears a rather satisfying _crunch_ and the dragon comes down, two of his four legs now useless.

"Finish it!" Albus cries. Gellert runs to the dragon's head, bypassing the sprouts of fire issuing from its mouth, and slashes at its neck. Albus climbs on the dragon's back, holding on to spikes and digging his claws into the scales to keep himself in place, and makes his way to the open neck. He slashes at it, ignoring the dragon's pained screeches and roars. His suit jacket gets caught in a spike and tears, pieces of fabric drifting to the ground. Gellert slashes along with him, and eventually the dragon's sounds grow weaker and weaker, until it lets out a shutter and slumps against the ground.

Albus gasps and looks down at the ground. Gellert looks up at him, covered in blood, and grins, raising his arms. Albus sighs and slips off the dragon, and lets Gellert catch him lightly in his arms and lower him to the ground.

"Shall we?" Gellert bows with flourish, pointing to the closed door in front of them.

"Yes, let's," Albus opens the door and walks on.

****

They find themselves in another long hallway, and Gellert coughs, shaking his head, "That was…interesting."

"Gods," Albus groans, moving forward and tearing his ruined suit jacket off and he starts moving forwards. Gellert follows, keeping his eyes on Albus's feet.

Suddenly, Al stops, so suddenly Gellert bumps into his back.

"What is it?" Gellert asks, moving in front of Albus. "Oh."

In front of them lays a beautiful stone chalice full of a dark grey liquid swirling around. In front of the chalice lays a huge door made of Damascus steel, a large key hole right in the middle of it.

Gellert moves over to the chalice and sniffs the air around it. He knows that smell. Disgusted, Gellert turns back to the door and begins tracing it with his palm, trying to find some weakness in the metal, though he knows full well he will find no such weakness.

"I'll do it."

Gellert snaps away from the heavy door. Albus is looking down at the dark water with grim determination.

"No," Gellert shakes his head, horrified by the mere thought. "You won't…I won’t let you. You won’t. We'll find another way-"

"You and I both know there is no other way," He calmly picks up the cup and fills it up. Taking a deep breath, he starts raising the cup to his lips.

The liquid never reaches his mouth. Before it can, Gellert jumps forward, throwing the cup away from Al. It hits the floor with a bang and the water immediately flows back up to the chalice. Albus sighs heavily and bends to pick up the cup. A stranger might think he's remarkably calm, but Gellert knows him better then that. He can tell that his Al is terrified.

He shakes his head, every instinct in him screaming against letting his beloved drink the poison.

"Don’t," He whispers.

Al turns his beautiful eyes to Gellert and says, "This door and drink are both made from a combination of vampire, goblin, werewolf and centaur magic. You know just as well as I do that we can't trick or con our way out of this one."

"Then I'll do it," Gellert replies. "Give me the cup, I'll drink it."

"Why?" Albus asks. "One of us has to do it, why not me?"

"Because-"

"Because what?"

 _Because you're too precious, because you're too good, because I swore to myself, a very long time ago, that I will always protect you, because_ …

"Because I love you," Is what comes out. "And you can't expect me to stand by while you suffer."

"There," Albus says gently. "See? That's why you can't expect me to let _you_ drink it."

Before Gellert can respond to that, Albus dunks the cup into the liquid and drains it. Gellert groans in horror as Al swallows and then gasps.

"Al!" Gellert rushes forward as Albus groans and begins to stumble backwards. He slides his hand around Gellert's waist, holding him up. "My love…"

"I'm fine," Albus replies, steading himself. "It just burned on the way down."

Gellert swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, "I wish you'd let me do it."

"Too late for that now," Albus mumbles, filling the cup again. "Cheers."

He downs the second cup. This time he doesn’t stumble, just begins to shiver violently and whispers, "I can _hear_ her."

Gellert's throat clenches, and he wraps himself around Al protectively, as if he can keep him safe as long as he keeps him close.

"She's not real," He says into Albus's ear. "She's long dead, just a memory."

"I know," Al drains a third cup, and Gellert can start to see the key gleaming at the button. Two, maybe three more full cups left. He tightens his hold on his lover.

Al's shivers become more and more violent. He's spasming in Gellert's arms, thrusting around so violently that he hits Gellert so hard in the nose it breaks, and Gellert lessens his hold just a fraction as he's stunned by the pain, but it's just enough to let Al's body wiggle it's way out of his hold and he falls to the ground, where he begins rolling on the floor, hands pressed against his ears and eyes closed in pain.

"Al…" Gellert leans down as his nose heals and places himself on Al's body, and grabs Al's hands. "Open your eyes."

But he can tell Albus can no longer hear him, he's too far gone in the memory. Gellert releases him and steps away, allowing Albus to return to his thrusting.

He moves over to the chalice, every step heavier and heavier. It's like there's lead in his legs, like his body is fighting him.

 _He has to finish drinking it_ , he tells himself. _If he doesn't, he'll die. And he can't die, he can't die_ …

"Please," He hears from behind him, in Gaelic, a pained little voice like a child's. "Please."

"I'm sorry, my love," Gellert whispers as he fills the cups, though he knows Albus isn't talking to him. His heart clenches and he feels tears sting his eyes as he returns to Al's side, pushing the cup to his lips.

Albus drinks it all, every last drop. Gellert can't tell if he's still aware he has to drink, or if he's to far gone and it's blind trust that's making him comply. Gellert doesn’t want to think about it, it makes him want to hurt someone really badly.

Preferably himself.

As soon as Albus drinks the fourth cup, he stops shaking. For a moment he lays completely still, then his eyes fly open, but they're completely blank. He can't see Gellert, probably can't feel him either as Gellert rest his forehead on Albus's chest.

"No, Ariana," Albus whispers, still in Gaelic, as a sob escapes him. "Please, we'll find another way. Please don’t make me do that, please…"

Gellert wraps his arms around Albus's neck as tears begin to run down his cheeks.

"Ariana…"

"Al," Gellert whispers, "Al…"

Albus screams, but more in horror then anything else. Gellert shivers, and forces himself away from Albus. He has to get more poison. He has to feed his love more of the poison.

The fifth cup goes in just as easily as the fourth, and the sixth as well. There was no poison left, but Gellert an;t make himself take the key. He doesn't want a prize for letting Albus drink the poison.

"Albus," Gellert leans next to Albus. He's stopped shivering, laying motionless on the ground, eyes closed and fingers slightly twitching. "It's over, open your eyes."

"Ariana," Albus whispers. "Ariana…"

 _Oh, no_ , Gellert blinks. "Albus, you can come out of the memory now. Please."

But Albus's eyes remain closed. Gellert, feeling slightly panicked now, begins shaking Albus, faster and stronger as Albus doesn’t open his eyes.

"Al, Al! Al!"

****

"You have to do it," Ariana says sharply, holding her wrist out to him.

"No," Albus shakes his head. "I won’t. I won’t do it."

"Al, we don’t have a choice," Ariana says quietly, a dignified determination in her eyes. "I'm going to die anyway."

"Don't say that," Albus blinks in horror. "Please, Ariana. You're not going to die-"

"I will, one day," Ariana replies, still so _calm_. How could she be so calm? "Someday soon."

"Not at fourteen, fourteen is too young."

"Albus, my dear, sweet brother," Ariana kisses his forehead. "You're weak, and if you don’t drink from me you won’t have the strength you need to protect our home."

"I don’t want to drink from you."

"It's not your choice, it's mine, this is the death I choose. I want you to do it-"

"Albus, it's over, open your eyes."

"Please, Ariana-"

"Al!" The world is shaking, but Ariana doesn’t seem to notice. Perhaps it's Albus that's shaking.

She smiles at him and takes out a small knife.

"Al!" He can feel something on his skin, something familiar and comforting, someone's touch.

"No, Ariana-"

He can feel something on his lips, something trying to tug him away from Ariana. No, he doesn’t want to leave her, he won't leave her, this time he'll stay with her, this time he won’t take her life, this time-

"Come back, my love, please."

Gellert.

"I won’t," Albus whispers. "I'm staying with Ariana."

"You can't, my love, she's dead."

"She's not dead, she's right in front of me," Ariana smiles at him, and then the knife moves on her skin.

"No! No, Ariana!"

"Al, open your fucking eyes, right fucking now!"

He doesn’t want to see it, he doesn’t want to feel Ariana's blood on his lips again, he doesn’t want to be reminded how sweet she had tasted. He forces his eyes open.

Gellert is leaning over him, their noses rubbing, his fingers caressing Albus's skin. He smiles gently and kisses Albus tenderly.

"It's all right, love, it's over," Gellert mumbles and strokes Albus's hair, and he gladly leans into the touch.

"You're covered in dragon blood," Albus mumbles, crinkling his nose. "You got me all covered in it."

Gellert rolls his eyes, and pushes himself off Albus, "Sorry, I'll get you cleaned up as soon as we get out of here."

Albus groans, his whole body weak and shivery. Worry creeps into Gellert's face and he leans back down next to Albus, his golden hair tickling Albus's face.

"Al?" Gellert's voice is soft and gentle, as if he's afraid Albus might break if he talks too loudly.

"I'm fine," Albus growls, trying to sit up, but his head grows dizzy and he falls back down, caught easily by Gellert, and his head is laid down on Gellert's lap.

"Fine, hmm?" Gellert sighs.

"Just…give me a moment," Albus closes his eyes, which relieves the dizziness a bit.

"Why don't I carry you, if you're so tired?"

"You're not carrying me," Albus replies, eyes still closed.

"Why not? I like carrying you."

"Last time you carried me, you dropped me off the Notre Dame."

He hears Gellert's soft laughter, and then Albus opens his eyes as Gellert helps him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist and putting Albus's arm around his shoulder to support him.

Albus leans his head on Gellert's shoulder, and takes a shuttering breath, trying to force some strength into his limps. He's unsuccessful.

They move together, slowly, to the chalice, and Gellert picks up the black heavy key laying in it. Albus closes his eyes, hiding his face in Gellert's neck. So, he got his prize for relieving the worst memory of his life.

"Al?" Gellert whispers, and Albus realizes he's started crying again.

"I'm fine," Albus lies. "Don't worry about me."

Gellert snorts and tightens his hold on Albus, though, to Albus's immense relief, he doesn’t say anything else, just gently moves over to the door and places the key in the key hole, clicking the lock open. Immediately the key flies back to the chalice, which quickly overflows with water again. Albus turns back to the door as Gellert pushes it open.

"Oh," Gellert blinks. "That's not…what I was expecting."

Albus has to agree. He was not expecting a dead basilisk either.

****

The next chamber holds the large body of a newly slain basilisk, it's scales shimmering in the green light coming from the green flames issuing from the lanterns hanging on the wall. It reminds Albus quite a bit of the Chamber of Secrets, the prayer hall for the Green God in Hogwarts. There are a few holes in the walls around the basilisk, huge and round. Roughly the size and shape of a humongous snake.

"Someone was here before us," He mumbles, stumbling against Gellert. "Recently."

"Someone who killed the basilisk, but not the dragon."

"I told you, the ministry must have some way to control the dragon. " Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

"But not a basilisk? Why would they kill it-"

"I don't think the Ministry brought the basilisk here," Albus replies, trying to point to the holes. It's surprisingly difficult to raise his arm, and he lets it slump back down on his size.

"Ah," Gellert mumbles. "I see. The creature made this his home." Smashed it's way in, smashed it's way out, and happened to be here when Riddle's prison was visited.

"Even the Ministry can't control everything," Albus replies with a small smile, leaning on Gellert's shoulder.

"Don’t let them know that, they'll be disappointed," Albus can hear Gellert's soft grin. "I can see what the Ministry left in this place. See underneath the basilisk?"

Albus turns to look, "Is that…dry blood?"

"Dry Dead Man's Blood," Gellert corrects. "I assume it sprouts out of the ground in specific places."

"Hmm," Albus returns his head to Gellert's shoulder. He's finding it hard to think clearly. "We can't just walk across the chamber if we don’t know where the Dead Man's Blood is hidden."

"Al, we're going to climb across the basilisk, and I'm going to carry you-"

"No, you're not," Albus growls.

"Shut up and listen for a moment, will you. You're weak and unsteady, and if you make wrong step and fall, you might inject Dead Man's Blood, and we don't have the luxury of allowing that to happen. So, it's only logical that I carry you."

Albus groans, but he can't deny Gellert's logic.

"On your back, then," He sighs in resignation. "And I swear to all four gods, if you drop me-"

"Consider me warned," Gellert clicks his tongue and swings Albus on his back. Albus wraps his arms around Gellert's shoulders and his legs around his waist.

"I like this," Gellert says smugly, and Albus growls into his neck. Gellert laughs softly, "Relax, love."

"It's humiliating," Albus says, though he finds himself molding his body to Gellert as the latter jumps into the air, landing gracefully on the end of the basilisk's tail. It reminds him of how his father used to hold him when he was a little child, and the way he held Ariana when she was small. The memory makes his heart clench and he stiffens.

"Al?" Gellert says his name softly as he begins his climb. No one but Gellert calls him that anymore, everyone else who did is either dead or have long since stopped talking to him.

"What?" Albus snaps, sharper then he had intended. Gellert doesn't seem to mind. He just stops his climbing for a moment and kisses Albus knuckles. Albus shivers slightly and presses his nose against Gellert's blond locks.

"It must have been awful," Gellert says, resuming his climbing. Albus blinks, unsure of how to respond to that, but Gellert continues to speak, relieving Albus from the need to reply to him. "To relive that memory. Or what is it pleasant, to see her again? Is that why you wouldn’t wake up from the memory?"

"It was pleasant," Albus replies, this time knowing exactly what to say. "It was wonderful, she was so real, right there. But then…" he shivers.

"I wish I could freeze time," He muses, closing his eyes and conquering up Ariana's face, the way she had looked the day they had birthed the kid goat together, the way she had laughed, the way she had rubbed their brother's head with her palm, the way her arms had felt around him when she hugged him close.

"It would get boring," Gellert replies. "Living the same moment forever."

"But she'd bee alive, in that moment," Albus protests. "She's be alive and safe…"

"Al, it wasn't your fault that your sister died," Gellert sighs, climbing on. "She was a human, she would have died eventually anyway."

Albus scoffs, "My parents said the same thing, when they found her body, drained of blood. They said I had done the _right thing_."

"You had," Gellert sounds insistent.

"Please don’t," Albus growls. "Don’t say that it didn’t matter, that it doesn’t matter if she died, because she would have died anyway-"

"I wasn't going to say that," Gellert says, entirely calm.

Albus frowns, "You…weren't?"

"I wasn't," Gellert replies dryly.

"So…what _were_ you going to say?"

"I was going to say that it was the right thing to do, because she asked you to do it," Gellert replies.

Now _that_ surprised him. Gellert seems to sense his shock and adds, "You're always so taken aback when I say something nice."

"That's not true," Albus protests, and when Gellert scoffs he adds, "I don't. I'm just surprised you care what a _human_ wanted."

"I don’t, particularly," Gellert shrugs, which causes Albus to move up and down. "I care about your state of mind."

Albus decides he's too exhausted, and…well, comfortable to argue, so he just nuzzles closer to Gellert's skin and closes his eyes. Before long, he finds himself slipping into sleep.

****

Gellert moves slowly and gently, careful not to wake Albus up. He slips off the basilisk, one arm holding Albus still on his back and the other gentling himself off the dead monster. His lover mumbles against him, so he gentles Albus to his front and holds him, curled up into a ball, against his chest. He looks down at Albus's sleeping face.

"You're so beautiful," He mumbles. "But you look so sad." Albus is frowning lightly, pressing his face into Gellert's shoulder, and he shivers.

Gellert sighs deeply and moves over to the wall opposite him, where there is a dark wooden door. He opens the door and moves on to the next chamber.

The chamber is bathed in dark green light from the basilisk's chamber, and it illuminates a large black coffin. Gellert sighs deeply and puts Albus down on the stone floor, gently. He considers for a second waking Albus up, as he had wanted to be the one to kill Riddle. But no, Gellert can do it, Albus has done enough today. And besides, Gellert has wanted to kill Riddle for some time now, to end the life of that annoying little boy.

He walks over to the coffin and places a hand on the lid.

"Well, Tom, here we are," He whispers. "Are you ready to die, now? Of course not. You've never prepared yourself for death."

He grins and flips open the lid.

His grin immediately disappears. The coffin is empty.

****

"Albus," He hears someone calling his name. A soft voice.

"Wwwwhat…" He mumbles.

"Riddle is gone."

Albus's eyes fly open. Gellert is looking down at him, his borrow frowned. There's a furious kind of panic in his eyes as he pushes Albus to a seated position.

"What the fuck did you just say," Albus growls. "Is this a joke, tell me this is a jok-"

"Get up," Gellert stood up and Albus let himself be dragged to his feet. "Look."

Gellert helps him over to the open casket. Albus places his hands on its sides and leans in to see. Sure enough, there's no one in the coffin.

He's not surprised that the first thing he feels is relief. Relief that Riddle is gone, that he doesn’t need to kill him. The relief is so strong he staggers against the coffin, the little bit of energy he had collected in his sleep (and really, how could he have _fallen asleep_ in the middle of all this? And how could have Gellert let him?) leaking out of him as he nearly falls straight into the coffin. Gellert grabs him across the waist and hoists him up.

"Oh, my damsel in distress," He hears Gellert murmurs against his ear, but despite the coy response Albus can hear the fury itching its way to the surface. He puts a hand on Gellert's arm to steady him.

"Someone got to him before us," Albus states the obvious, his mind reeling.

"I can see that, my brilliant Al-"

"Gellert," Albus interrupts. "Someone was here, very recently. We may have just missed them. Someone who knew how to reel in the dragon..."

"So, someone who works for the Ministry," Gellert says.

"Who chose now to take the body, right when we were coming. Someone who knew that we were on our way, someone who knew we had taken down the Death Eaters-"

He stops, realization creeping up his spine.

"What? Al, what?"

"Snape," He whispers. "He must have talked to someone, an agent they have in the Ministry, told him to go get the body, that they were running out of time. I knew he was powerful, but this…is something else. He must have been aware enough in his sleep…oh, no."

"What is it?" Gellert asks as Albus stumbles again, horror making his limbs weak. "Al!"

"If he told someone about Riddle, he probably also told where _he_ was. We have to get to Grimmuald Place. _Now_!"


	6. Preparing For The Next Stage

_Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that_

_-Martin Luther King Jr_

Draco shoves _Anna Karenina_ away and takes the book Hermione holds. He grabs it gentlyand looks it over, reading out, " _War and Peace_."

"You asked for more books by the same author," Hermione replies. This time she brought down, aside from the book, three cushions, and had placed one on the floor to sit on and handed the other two to Draco.

"Thank you," Draco settles the book on his lap. "It's so heavy."

"Well, it only took you two days to finish _Anna Karenina_ , let's see how long it take you to finish this one."

"Not much to do down here but read," Draco replies dryly. "That or listen to your friend fumble over his words talking to the mudblood."

Hermione gives him a hard look, looking…disappointed? That surprises Draco.

"Don’t call her that," She shakes her head.

"I can call her whatever I want," Draco replies, then frowns when Hermione looks down at the ground, disappointment turning into something closer to anger.  

"What is it?" He demands.

"Nothing," Hermione shrugs, looking up. She takes a steadying breath, her face returning to calm. "Don’t worry about it. Are you hungry? I can get you more blood."

"I'm fine…" Draco blinks, unsure of why the mudblood had chosen not to confront him. He opens the book to the first page.

"Could you read out loud?" Hermione asks. Draco frowns and looks up, and she shrugs. "I like _War and Peace_."

"Sure…" Draco finds himself saying, though he has no idea why. He clears his throat and starts reading.

" _Well, Prince, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private estates of the Bonaparte family_ …"

Hermione sits with her legs folded up, her chin cupped in her palm, listening with her eyes half closed as Draco reads on.

****

Harry wakes up in the middle of the day to screams. Again. He sighs heavily to himself and closes his eyes. The screams, as always, are loud and panicke,d full of equal amounts of fear, confusion and pure pain. After a few moments, they are joined by the sound of heavy feet running through the hallway, then he hears Mrs. Weasley say, "Wake up love, wake up, it's only a dream." She has to talk loud enough to be heard above Ginny's panicked yells.

Harry puts his hands over his ears. He doesn't want to hear this, it's not for his ears. But Ginny is never quiet when she wakes up from her nightmares, and though he doesn’t want to he can't stop from hearing her anguished cries.

The screams die down and then Ginny whimpers, "I'm all right, Mum." She sounds so small, so scared.

If Mrs. Weasley responds, she does it in a low enough voice that Harry can't hear. Good. This happens every day, and he hates having to hear it. Harry sighs and covers his eyes in his hand, trying to get back to sleep. But despite his exhaustion he can't. Screams echo through his mind, louder and louder. He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. Ginny's voice is lovely, quiet but strong, and he hates how distorted it gets when she screams, hates how it sounds when filled of pain and horror. It's as if she gets burned all over again every time she goes to sleep. He can understand why, in the evening, when they all meet in the parlor or kitchen after they wake up, she always has a hollowed and blank look to her. He would look the same if he was engulfed by flames in his dreams, over and over again.

Harry groans again and shoves himself up. He's not going to get any sleep, so he might as well go to bother Hermione.

Hermione's bedroom is located right in front of Harry's. She got the bedroom once used by Andromeda Tonks, when she was a Black, one of the bedrooms that the Black family had quartered off after the disownment of the room's inhabitants. Andromeda had married a human-born vampire. That was enough to get her thrown out of Grimmuald Place. Like Sirius, whenever she returns to Grimmuald Place she refuses to sleep in the room which was once hers, so the bedroom has remained unused until Andromeda had offered it to Hermione.

Harry pounds on the door, "Hi, 'mione, you asleep?"

"If I was, I wouldn't be anymore," Hermione's voice growls out to him.

Harry grins and pushes open the door. Hermione's seated on the bed, a small book leaning on her folded knees, and looks up with a frown when Harry comes in. She's dressed in a fluffy pink pajama and she's tied up her hair in a bun behind her face.

"That was not an invitation to walk in," Hermione raises a single eyebrow.

"Sorry."

Harry turns and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. He knocks on the door three times and calls out, "May I come in?"

"Yes, you may, you smart-ass," Hermione replies, but she sounds amused.

Harry opens the door again and walks into the room, closing it behind him once again. Hermione, rolling her eyes, motions him to the bed. Harry happily slips into the bed next to his friend.

"What are you reading?" He asks.

" _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ ," Hermione replies. "Of all the books in this house, this one is the most modern, and do you know when it was published?"

"Um…"

"Nineteen hundred!" Hermione bangs the back of her head on the bed frame. "That was _seventy-one_ years ago."

"Ok…" Harry blinks.

"Remind me next time Sirius calls to tell him he needs to get new books," Hermione says and sighs, leaning her head on Harry's shoulder. "I wanted to reread the _Great Gatspy_ …maybe he can get a copy of that…" She looks up at Harry and frowns, "What's wrong? Is it Ginny?"

Harry shrugs, keeping his eyes focused anywhere but Hermione's intelligent gaze.

"Harry…" Hermione says warningly. "Tell me."

"I can't take it," Harry mumbles softly. "She's in so much pain."

Hermione hums comfortingly and hugs Harry's side, her presence relieving some of his pressure. She says, "I know. It wakes me up, too."

"I wish there was something I could do for her," Harry picks up the book from Hermione's lap and places it on his own knees. "I don’t think there is, though. I mean, I try, but every time I try to get close to her, she walks away."

"Harry, Ginny's been through a lot," Hermione brings a hand to rub Harry's head.

"I know that! But she doesn’t do that to her mother, or you…"

Hermione sighs deeply, "Oh, Harry, I love you, I do. but you're such an idiot sometimes."

"What? Why?" Harry's used to getting criticized by Hermione, or rather _scolded_ by her, for what she calls his 'lack of emotional intelligence', but he really doesn't think he deserves it this time.

"Mrs. Weasley wasn't at the bloodfarm, and neither was I. You were. _Of course_ it's more difficult for her to see you, and talk to you. You must remind her every moment of what she's been through."

"Because it's my fault her brother died," Harry replies as a heavy stone decides to grow in the pit of his stomach.

"I did not say that."

"You implied it."

"I did not!" Hermione pinches his ear.

" _Ouch_ ," Harry complains.

"It's not your fault that Ron died, I don’t want to hear you say that again, all right?" Hermione gives him a hard look. "Stop saying it, stop _thinking_ it."

"Sorry," Harry replies, hoping that will be enough to keep Hermione from pinching him again. He decides its time to change the subject and asks, "Is it working?"

"Is what working?" Hermione asks.

"Down there," Harry points in the general direction of the dungeons. "With him."

For some reason, Hermione hides her face into Harry's shoulder, as though she doesn't want him to see her expression. Then she says, "I don’t know."

"You don't know?" Harry frowns. Hermione knows all the answers, usually.

"It's…odd," Hermione mumbles into his shoulder. "We have these conversations and it's so nice. He's smart and interesting…but then he does something like call me a mudblood or refer to humans as blood bags and I remember…it's so ingrained in him, deep, deep down. It's so strange, and…"

"Disconcerting?" Harry suggests.

"I suppose," Hermione sighs and nuzzles deeper into Harry's shoulder. "What do you think? Do you think it's pointless?"

Harry thinks for a moment and then says, "I don’t know, maybe. But I like that you're trying."

"Ahh, Harry," Hermione laughs and hugs Harry's waist. "Your confidence in me is inspiring."

"It's not my confidence in you that's the problem," Harry objects, hands trialing the nearly healed wound on Hermione's neck. "It's _him_. I don’t like you spending so much time with him. He's…"

"A racist, I know," Hermione sounds ridiculously calm. "That's why he needs talking to."

"Jeez, 'mione," Harry rolls his eyes. "You can't _fix_ him."

Hermione sighs, "I know."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to convince him to fix himself," Hermione replies.

****

the phone rings in the middle of the Star Trek episode. Hermione looks over at Harry, hoping he'd go answer the phone, but he's watching the TV with rapid attention and he looks so comfortable that Hermione can't bring herself to tear him away from it, so she sighs and gets up herself.

"Hello?"

"Hermione?"

"Dumbledore?" Hermione brings the phone closer to her ear. Dumbledore's voice is hurried, almost panicked. It unnerved her. "What is it?"

"Hermione, listen to me very closely. You need to leave Grimmauld Place right away. Right now. Don't take anything, you don't have the time. Go right now."

"What is it, what happened?"

"I believe the Death Eaters know the location of our headquarters. There's a safe house in Toronto, Mrs. Weasley knows where it is. I'll meet you there. Now, go."

Hermione swallows hard, "We’ll leave."

"Good girl," Dumbledore says. "Leave _now_."

Hermione hangs the phone, and turns to see both Harry and Mrs. Weasley standing behind her. She swallows deeply as Mrs. Weasley says, "Let's go, children."

"I'll get a car ready," Harry says.

"I'll get Draco," Hermione says, and Harry freezes.

"We're not taking him, Hermione."

"What?" Hermione frowns at him, confused. "We can't leave him!"

"What the _hell_ are you talking about? We can't take him, he's a Death Eater!"

"He's not, he's just a confused little boy!"

"We're not taking him-"

" _I_ am," Hermione sneers. "Go to the car, I'll be there in a minute."

Without waiting for a response, Hermione pushes past Harry down to the basement.

Draco is seated on the cot, and he looks up with a blank stare when Hermione comes in.

"It's a waste of time, you know," He says as soon as she opens the cell door and walks in. "I'm not going with you. I've been waiting to my father to come. I knew he wouldn't abandon me."

"Draco," Hermione says hurriedly, moving towards the shackles. "Please, you have to come with us."

"That's not going to happen," Draco replies, his eyes cold and piercing. "And why do you care?"

It was a good question. Hermione decides to ignore it completely.

"You sold them out," She says instead. "You told us where they're bloodfarm is, remember? McGonagall has probably destroyed it by now. Do you think they'll forgive that? You think Snape will forgive that? They'll brand you a traitor and a weakling and even if they don’t kill you, they'll never trust you again. You'll never be anything but the little boy who screwed up."

There's a moment of silence as Draco stares at her in shock, and Hermione feels her heart clench in her chest. _Please_ , she thinks, _just let go of your pride for one goddamn second. Just for one second._

"Please," She whispers, and that seems to do it, as Draco closes his eyes and brings his chained wrists up to her, as though he doesn't want to have to see his own submission.

"I'll come."

****

"You should come into the safehouse."

Ginny turns to see Harry climbing up onto the roof next to her. His messy hair- he can't seem to ever be able to contain it- sticks out all around his face and he pushes his glasses up his nose.

"I think your mother's worried about you," He continues.

Ginny snorts, "She's always worried about me lately." The response sounds cold even to her own ears, and she quickly adds, "I'll come back soon."

Harry looks at her hesitantly and then blurts out, "Why are you avoiding me? I mean, I don’t blame you for hating me."

"I don’t hate you," Ginny frowns, genuinely confused at how he could have come to that conclusion. "Why would I hate you?"

"Because it's my fault your brother died," His tone adds, _obviously_.

"I…" Ginny blinks. "It's not your fault, Harry. What kind of stupid ideas are going on in that head of yours?"

Harry blushes and settles down on the roof, far away from Ginny, "You…you don’t have to be nice. I know that's why-"

"Harry, I'm telling you that I don’t hate you," Ginny snaps. "And I don’t blame you for Ron."

"Umm…" Harry seems completely baffled by Ginny's words. "So…so why are you avoiding me?"

Ginny sighs and closes her eyes, resting her palms on the concrete roof.

"You turned me."

There's a moment of silence and then Harry says, "I saved your life."

Ginny grits her teeth. He doesn't understand. "I told you I didn’t want to be turned."

"But you would have _died_."

"And," Ginny's eyes snap open. "That would have been my choice. I told you not to turn me. I wanted a die a human. You forced me to become a vampire, and that's why I'm avoiding you. I don't hate you. I just really don't want to be around you."

****

Hermione can't help it. When she catches Dumbledore's scent, she throws the windows open and jumps out. She falls the four stories to the alleyway underneath the safehouse and rushes forward, jumping right into Dumbledore's arms.

"Wow!" Dumbledore gasps, then he chuckles softly and hugs her back.

"Hello, sir," Hermione's eyes flicker up to see Grindelwald pacing towards them. The blond man takes a look at her and something flickers in his eyes. It almost looks like anger. Automatically, she feels the urge to slip away from Dumbledore, but why should she? He's her creator, she missed him, and besides, Grindelwald doesn’t get to decide who Dumbledore hugs.

"Hello, Hermione," Dumbledore says, tightening his hold on her. She has to resist the urge to stick out her tongue to Grindelwald as the anger grows slightly in his eyes _. See? You're not the only one he loves. You don’t have a monopoly on his heart._ "I'm glad to see you're well."

"We are," Hermione replies. The last few days have been odd, full of strained looks and strangled emotions. Draco hasn't spoken to anyone, Ginny has spent more of her time alone then with others, Harry has huddled into himself, grieving other the loss of Grimmuald Place, and Mrs. Weasley hasn't stopped trying to get the three of them to talk to her. "I think."

"Complicated question, sometimes, isn't it?" Dumbledore says gently.

Hermione sighs, "But it's over now, isn't it? Riddle is dead?"

She feels Dumbledore stiffen against her, and he says, "No. He's not dead. He was gone."

"What?" Hermione pushes herself backwards, to see Dumbledore's face. "He was gone?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replies. "When we got there, he was gone."

"Oh, that's not good," Hermione mumbles. "That's not good at all."

Dumbledore tries to smile encouragingly. He's entirely unsuccessful, "We’ll get them one day."

Then why are you so scared? Hermione thinks, but doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want the answer.

****

"I want you to take the children to the Burrow," Al's saying. Gellert keeps his eyes outside the window, to the rooftop opposite, where the Malfoy boy and the mudblood are sitting. He wonders what they could possibly be talking about. "We’ll make it the headquarters, if that's all right with you and Arthur."

"Of course, Albus," The fat ginger lady says. "Anything the Order needs."

"Thank you, Molly," Al replies. He's seated on the small dining table, his frame rigid and controlled. Gellert can hear the anger and frustration itching their way closer and closer to the surface. He doesn’t blame Al. He's quite furious as well. Al had to drink that poison, they had to fight a _dragon_ , and for nothing. And then they had to climb their way back up, pounding their fists into the stones to get a hold, which had broken more than a few of their fingers, and that was for nothing as well. Riddle was gone, they had come to late, they had failed.

Well, that was probably on him. Al had been trying to convince him for decades now to use his seer abilities to see where Riddle was. But he had refused. He did not want Riddle dead, had not thought it necessary. He had thought that one day they would wake him up, and mold him, the two of them, into a more useful vampire then he had ever been. He had not considered the possibility that someone could outwit him. He had allowed ego to get the better of him.

It's been some time since he's made such a massive miscalculation.

"I'll go check on Ginny," The woman says and walks away. Left alone with Albus, Gellert slinks away from the window towards his lover. As soon as the lady has left the room, Albus collapses into the table, his face hidden between his folded arms. Gellert slips a hand into Al's auburn hair and caresses him silently for a few moments.

 "He might be awake by now," Albus finally says, voice muffled. Gellert doesn’t stop his caressing.

"Does it matter, when exactly it happens?"

"I suppose not, but I'd rather know it's done," Al replies. He seems content to let Gellert continue petting him, and Gellert is more than happy to oblige him.

"Hmm," Gellert runs his hands through the soft locks once more.

"There will be war now."

"Yes, there will be," Gellert agrees.

"Gods above," Albus groans into the table. "I don’t want to fight another war."

Gellert couldn't agree with that. But then again, Al cares about _casualties_ far too much to actively enjoy war.

****

"You don’t have to leave, you know."

Draco shrugs, not looking at Hermione. He can see Grindelwald staring at them from the window of the safehouse, and it sends a prickle of fear through his spine. He's self-aware enough to marvel at the irony that while he finds the pureblood Grindelwald's presence incredibly unnerving, he is entirely comfortable around the mudblood girl seated besides him.

"You really, really don’t. You can stay with us."

"I can't," Draco clears his throat.

"But-"

"I appreciate it," Draco interrupts, and the strange thing is that he means it. Completely. "But I…need to think. I can't do that around you." _You're too distracting._

There's a moment of silence and then Hermione says, "But you'll come back."

And it's silly, but for a moment Draco thinks she may be holding back tears. But of course he's only imagining that. Why would she cry for _him_? He's certainly not worthy of that. Draco lets himself glance at Hermione for a second, at her exposed neck. He can still see where he cut into her skin. No. She's certainly not holding back tears for _him_.

"I…I'll see," He croaks out.

"No. You'll come back," There's a certainty in Hermione's tone. "You'll go and think, then you'll come back."

"You don't know that," Anger flares in the pit of Draco's stomach, because really, who does she think she is, this mudblood, to presume his intentions?

"Yes, I do."

"How?" Draco demands. How, how does she know? Why does she know, why does she care-

His train of thought is interrupted when soft lips meet his forehead, and he shivers at the touch. He leans into Hermione, wanting to touch her, to feel her. She feels so…safe.

"That's how I know," Hermione whispers as she leans her forehead against his, and Draco finds he has no rebuttal for that.


	7. Tom Riddle

_Just because everything's different doesn’t mean anything has changed_

_-Irene Peter_

The grass is prickly on his bare soles of his feet. He can feel the soft wind against his skin, the soft warmth of the sun against his skin. That's how he knows it's a dream, because the sun feels comfortable and safe. It doesn’t hurt and weaken him as it should be doing.

And he's there, sitting on the grass, looking at him peacefully. And if he were here, really, he'd be trying to kill Tom. That's another way he knows it's a dream. For some reason, in his dreams, he calls himself 'Tom'.

"Tom," He says. "Come sit."

It's a dream, so it doesn't make him angry to be called that. And it's a dream, not real at all, so he allows himself to do just what he asks, ans sits down. What does it matter, it's not real, and there's only him here.

"This isn’t real," He tells the dream projection of the man seated next to him. It feels like something he needs to say out loud.

"It's in your mind," The man agrees. It hurts Tom, to know that he's not really talking to him, just to a mental construct of him that Tom built up. "But because it's in your mind, you decide what's real and what's not."

"No, that's not true," Tom shakes his head. "You're not real, I can't make you real."

"I am real, out there," The man replies. "You'll see me soon, I'm sure. When you wake up."

"I don't want to see you like that," Tom says. "When you hate me."

"I don’t hate you."

"But you're not really telling me that," Tom argues. "That's just my mind projecting my wishes."

"Tom."

Maybe that's why he calls himself that, in his dreams. Because Dumbledore calls him Tom, he's the only person on Earth who calls him that anymore, at least to his face.

"Yes?"

"Look up."

Tom obliges, and stares up at the dream-sky. He frowns at it, because the sun appears to be gone, and where it stood before there is a blotch of color spreading quickly through the sky. A blotch of deep red, like blood dropped into a bowl full of clear water.

"They've started feeding you blood," Dumbledore explains. "You'll wake up soon."

"I don’t want to," Tom replies, and he knows he sounds like a stubborn child, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to wake up, he doesn’t want to leave this dream, he wants to stay here forever.

"Of course you do, that's what you've been waiting for all these years," Dumbledore replies. "Remember? You were waiting for a legilimens powerful enough to speak to you, to hear your wishes and pass them to the rest of the Death Eaters. Now you can wake up and kill me."

"Yes…" Tom watches the blood spread through the sky, covering the blue entirely. "You'll be dead soon."

"See? You want to wake up."

"I wonder if you know," Tom mumbles, turning to look at the dream-Dumbledore besides him. "Do you know? The real you, I mean?"

"Why you want to kill me?" Dumbledore frowns, as though thinking. "I don’t know. I don’t think so."

"I don’t think so either," Tom reaches out to brush his fingers on the dream-Dumbledore's wrist, but he can't feel anything. Of course not, because that's not really Dumbledore, it's just more of himself. He's had to live with only himself for hundreds of years now. But not for long. "For such a smart man you can be remarkably obtuse sometimes."

"You'll wake up any second now," Dumbledore says as the blood reaches the ground and begins to cover the grass. "Are you ready?"

"Of course," He gives his old teacher one last look before the blood tickles his toes. He breathes in deeply, tasting the flavour of blood, and closes his eyes.

****

"My Lord?"

Voldemort opens his eyes, and breathes in. Oh, he can _smell_ , he can _hear_ , he can _feel_. His fingers trail his body, his face, his hair. He sits up slowly, flicking his tongue over his lips, tasting a few drops of blood. He looks around him, at the hunched forms of his Death Eaters, at the three dead humans at his feet. He casually kicks them away and steps off the long cot they've place him on. Someone's put a black silk robe on him, and it feels soft against his skin. It's a pleasant sensation.

"My Lord?"

Voldemort almost rolls his eyes, and turns to look at the speaker. It's Bellatrix, of course it is. Her eyes are wide with adoration and awe, and, although she's leaning down like the rest, her head is turned up and she's looking at him straight in the eyes. She can't help it, she wants to look at him. She's so useful, that one.

"Well done," He says softly, and Bellatrix shines with his praise. He smiles thinly, and then turns to address the group. "So, shall we begin?"


End file.
